


At the End of the Road

by Dragonie



Series: Rain in the Desert [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dialogue Heavy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flagrant Abuse of the Semicolon, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Loneliness, Post-Game(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Rampant Caesar's Legion Hatred, Retrospective, Scars, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 19:42:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8727745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonie/pseuds/Dragonie
Summary: The Courier’s business in the Mojave is finished; the Dam taken. Yet something keeps bringing her back to that lonely cliff over Hopeville, and the man who waits there.Eventual Courier/Ulysses.





	1. Chapter 1

         _Chapter 1_

 

                Well-worn boots beat a familiar path through the dust and debris towards Hopeville. There he was, still keeping his lonely vigil on the cliff top: the man who once waited for her at the end of the world.

                Ulysses didn’t even turn around as she approached him.

                “Courier,” he said, with a brief nod of acknowledgement. Jane grinned.

                “What, you can tell me by my footsteps now?” She dropped her pack and rifle to one side and sat beside him on the cliff, as always. He watched her as she did, his expression betraying none of his thoughts. She still wasn’t entirely sure where she stood with him – hadn’t been since they’d fought side by side in the Temple – but he at least tolerated her visits, was willing to discuss whatever news she brought from the Mojave. Even when they argued philosophy, the words he spoke to her had lost their fury; that flame, it seemed, had died alongside his apocalyptic plans. Nor did he ever question why she came here; several times now, since they first met, despite her pressing business in the Mojave. Perhaps he had his own theories.

                “Don’t have to,” Ulysses replied. “No one else would brave the road west into the Divide. Nothing here for scavengers but ash and radiation.”

                Melancholy as ever, it seemed. Well, that wasn’t too bad. Melancholy wasn’t what worried her.

                “All right, all right, I get the picture.” She waved him off with a wry look, and he fell silent again, resuming his watch. She cast her eyes forward too, over the expanse of the Divide; saw the crying windstorms blowing dust and ashes over the ruins, the distant pinpricks of Marked Men fires, the strange glow of the Courier’s Mile. From all the way up here, it almost didn’t look like total shit. They sat there in silence for a few minutes while Jane gathered her thoughts. Finally, she took a deep breath.

                “I killed Lanius,” she announced. He glanced over at her. Surprised, perhaps? Hard to tell, with this one. “At Hoover Dam. He went on about how he’d ‘teach me my place in his tent,’ or somethin’. I put a bullet through his brain.” She smiled bitterly. “That’s gettin’ to be a thing with you Legion boys. Good thing you left, eh?”

                Ulysses said nothing. Christ, but there was no in-between with this man. Either he was talking your ear off with philosophising, or he was silent as the goddamn grave.

                Finally, he spoke.

                “Not what I expected,” he admitted. “Thought you might be able to talk him into changing his plans. Good at that.” He gave her a pointed look, and she doffed her hat playfully in response. “Nineteen tribes couldn’t bring the Monster of the East to bay. Made him a symbol of the Legion; all the might of the Bull in one man. You ending him at that Wall? Who can say what will come of it. Bull won’t die quick, Courier.”

                Jane waited patiently for him to finish, suppressing a twinge of irritation at the title. Why he couldn’t just call her by her damn name, she would never know. He didn’t _seem_ to carry any grudge against her now, but she couldn’t quite shake the memory of the raw _contempt_ with which he once growled the word. Her feelings were complicated enough already without him digging that back up.

                “Reckon the East’ll find another symbol?”

                Ulysses paused, mulling over the question.

                “Doubtful. Killing was public; can’t hide a new man behind the mask if the Legion saw the last one fall. Power in his invincibility; now that’s been proven a lie, they may not believe it a second time. Killed more than a man at that Dam, Courier. Won’t see another Lanius.”

               “Yeah? Well, thank God for _that_. Fewer of his like there are runnin’ around, the better, I reckon.” Ulysses shrugged, a move so slight it was barely noticeable.

                “Won’t argue that. Lanius was a mad dog without Caesar to hold his leash. Didn’t care if Legion lived or died; just wanted the fight. Bull would have died under him eventually; slower than without him, bloodier. No, East won’t birth another Monster.” He shifted, straightening his back. “West, on the other hand…” He looked her dead in the eyes. “West might’ve found a new symbol.” Jane stared back.

                “Wait, what? _Me_?” He nodded.

                “Bear couldn’t have taken the Dam without you, Courier. Saw you slay the Monster of the East, maybe never thought that possible before. History will remember it. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were spreading your legend as we speak.”

                “Hang on, man. I ain’t even _from_ the NCR. How am _I_ supposed to symbolise ‘em?” Ulysses shook his head.

                “Makes no difference. You stood beneath their flag, fought for them. Too late for regrets, Courier.”

                “Now, hold on, I ain’t changin’ my mind or nothin’, I just… Jesus. A symbol? It’s a hell of a lot to take in, Ulysses.”

                “Shouldn’t be so surprised, after all you’ve done. One woman, facing the Legion and winning… Exorcising that Old World ghost from his tower… Bullet in the head couldn’t stop you; just made you walk the desert to hunt down the man who tried. Be more surprising if they didn’t spread your story, Courier,” he said, a rare trace of amusement in his voice. Good. That was good. She smirked at him.

                “Heh, guess if you put it that way, you silver-tongued bastard…” Ulysses snorted. “A symbol, eh?” Jane said thoughtfully. “Hope it don’t get too twisted. Don’t want nobody runnin’ around a few decades from now doin’ bad shit in my name, or the like.”

                “With the Bear? Wouldn’t count on it.”

                “Great. You know just how to cheer a girl up, my man.” She sighed and removed her hat, smoothing down her hair. It was little more than a tired habit; none had escaped from her long braid. Memories of the last half-year flitted through her head, full of the sound of gunshots and hand grenades, the sick smells of blood and burning flesh. She’d left a lot of bodies in her wake these past months, more than she’d ever expected to before the Chip job. She liked to think that she never killed a man who didn’t deserve it, or who wasn’t out to kill her first, but the sheer number made her feel a bit faint to think about. Maybe Ulysses was right, when he’d said that she carried death with her wherever she went.

                _Bit rich, though, comin’ from the man who ordered the White Legs to kill without mercy. Must’ve done his share of violence, too, servin’ under Caesar like that. Wonder how many-_ No. Best not to think about that. Let the past sleep. Lot of blood on both their hands; leave it at that.

                Ulysses shifted his weight, his movements turning him to half-face her. Something comforting, in that. She continued.

                “Y’know, all that killin’… It ain’t exactly what I hoped to be remembered for. Rather be known for doing some good for the Mojave.”

                “Don’t get to choose, Courier.”

                “S’pose not.” She sighed again.”Guess I just gotta hope someone remembers me proper. Not just the ugly bits. Like… What I actually did, an’ _why_ I did it, an’ who I was…” She waved her hands aimlessly, struggling to find the right words. She’d _talked_ to a lot of people during her time in the Mojave, true; a far cry from her usual lonely trails. Still, usually they were asking for her help, or threatening to kill her in some nasty fashion. Felt like a long time since someone had actually _listened_ to what she had to say. It was…refreshing. “Don’t want to end up just another symbol that people use for their own gain, y’know? Had enough of being _used_ already.”

                Her face twisted bitterly at this, the last sentence nearly spat out. She’d stumbled right into a power play between Benny, Caesar, House, and Kimball – not to mention that creepy smiling robot she found in the Tops; God only knew what _his_ game was – and all of them saw her as a weapon, useful in their hands, dangerous in their enemies’, and loaded with one shiny platinum bullet. Elijah and the Think Tank were even worse, somehow, barely even seeing her as sentient. She’d been collared, cut up, shot, and damn near exploded, all for the sake of someone else’s ambitions. Hell, at least Ulysses had the good grace to make things _personal_ , for once.

                Ulysses was silent. Jane took a deep breath, her face uncharacteristically serious. “Hey, Ulysses,” she began, her words slow and careful. “You’ll remember, yeah? If I end up bitin’ it first, I mean. You’ll remember the truth of it, an’ so will my friends back in Vegas, and that’s somethin’ to hold on to, ain’t it? Long as _someone_ remembers me right, maybe that’s enough.”

                She looked him in the eyes. He didn’t turn away. He didn’t even blink; never seemed to.

                “Won’t die before me, Courier,” he said, finally. “Invisible fires here’ll snuff my life out long before death comes for you.” _Shit. This again_. Here it was, his worryingly cavalier attitude towards the very real possibility of him dying here. _Shoulda headed this topic off at the pass. Is some goddamn self-preservation instinct too much to ask for?_

                “Don’t talk like that,” she said, sharply. “Listen, I ain’t plannin’ on dying any time soon. But neither are you, y’hear?” She reached out, rummaging through her pack and pulling up a cloth-wrapped bundle, which she proffered to him. “Here. Got some Stimpaks and some anti-rad chems for you. Told you back at the Temple I wasn’t gonna let either of us die here. Still mean it.” Ulysses just looked at her, taking in her determined eyes, the stubborn set of her jaw.

                “Why do you care, Courier? Bring these, every time you come here; what does it matter to you?” His gaze seemed to bore into her, and she looked away, casting her eyes down over the Divide below. She didn’t know _what_ to say. Didn’t quite know the words for it herself, just as she didn’t quite know what brought her back here every time. She just knew that she would feel his loss.

                He nodded, as if understanding something, and took the bundle.

                Jane sighed with relief, and turned back to her pack, face relaxing into a smile once more.

                “Brought some books for you, too.” She pulled out a few tomes. “Thought you might be bored.” Ulysses snorted again.

                “Won’t deny that.”

                “Some food, too. Thought I could cook us up some dinner. Don’t worry, it’s fresh. Reckon you’ve had enough of that pre-war stuff around here.”

                “Won’t deny that, either.”

                She handed him the books; battered, but still mostly intact. Ulysses took them readily, scanning the covers.

                “Mostly history books,” he noted. Jane grinned. Was it just her imagination, or did she hear a note of approval in his voice?

                “Thought you might like that.” She tapped one of the books, a slim volume. “This one was good. Pretty rare to find a copy with all the pages left, too. Been reading bits and pieces of it all over the place, but finally found this one in a ruined library down Pahrump way.” He picked it up.

                “ _The Odyssey_ ,” he read. He gave Jane a pointed look, and she shrugged.

                “What? Thought it was fittin’, even if he ain’t _exactly_ your namesake.” He shook his head, but his mood remained light (by _his_ standards, at least). Jane went back to rifling around in her pack, and drew out another package, wrapped in hessian. She opened it flat on the ground, revealing a bounty of yucca, cactus fruits, and brahmin jerky. Ulysses moved closer, clearly interested despite himself. _Must’ve been a long damn time since the man ate anything less than two hundred years old._

                Jane smirked and threw a prickly pear fruit at him, which he caught effortlessly. She watched him closely as he pulled off his breathing mask and bit into it; it was her first time seeing him without the thing, and damned if she wasn’t curious. He was not unhandsome beneath the mask; he hadn’t shaved in a while, but the stubble kind of suited him. His mouth curved downwards, giving him a rather morose expression, but that was pretty much as expected. More than that, he seemed… Closer, without the mask, less guarded, less closed-off. Noticing her gaze, he paused.

                “Something wrong, Courier?”

                “Ah, nothin’. Just finally gettin’ to see your goddamned face, is all.” Ulysses shot her an exasperated look, and resumed eating. Snickering, she snatched up a barrel cactus fruit and tucked in.

 

                —

 

                The Divide sky turned an angry orange on the horizon – as if the land was burning once more – and then darkened as the sun set. Few stars shone overhead, the dust in the air blotting them out. There were more lights below than above, as Marked Men lit their campfires. Jane wondered idly if they even needed sleep, or if they were just going through the motions of a life before… Well, before her.

                “I’ll take first watch,” she told Ulysses, but he shook his head. He had replaced his mask as soon as they had finished eating; the walls were up again.

                “No,” he said. “Long journey here, through the ruins of America. Better you rest first, safer. Divide won’t show mercy to the tired.”

                “Fair point,” Jane conceded. She moved away, settling her back against the rock face as she sat, knees tucked into her chest. It dug in a bit, but hell, she’d bedded down in worse places even than this. Road out of the Madre, for one. She propped up her trusty hunting rifle beside herself, within arm’s reach in case the Marked Men were feeling bold tonight. Ulysses glanced at her briefly before turning back, his eyes returning to the vista of Hopeville below, his vigil resumed.

                Jane pulled her duster closer to her body and gazed at the Old World flag on the back of his jacket, the symbol that once guided her through the Divide, and the Big Empty before it, regardless of the intentions of the man who wore it. Felt strangely sad, to think of him remaining here alone, in this dead and forgotten place, while the rest of the world went on living. She wondered if he wanted her to remember _him_. Could hardly forget, after everything.

                “Wake me when it’s my turn,” she called out to him. “I’m bettin’ you don’t sleep much, when I ain’t here.” He nodded, not turning around.

                “G’night, Ulysses,” Jane pulled her broad-brimmed hat down over her face.

                “Good night, Courier.”

                As she drifted off to sleep, she could’ve sworn she heard a faint smile in his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This pairing needs more love, seriously.
> 
> For those who don't know, The Odyssey is about the travels of the Greek hero Odysseus, who the Romans called Ulysses.


	2. Chapter 2

                _Chapter 2_

                Sunrise over the Mojave had been curiously peaceful, for all of the desert’s dangers; the gentle morning light caressing the cacti showed no hint of the burning midday sun it would soon become. Sunrise over Zion was as breathtaking as deep canyons and clear rivers, proving Joshua right when he called the land sacred. Sunrise over the Big Empty was as cold and sterile as any of its robotic masters (well, perhaps rather _more_ sterile than Dala). Sunrise over the Madre was nonexistent, the Cloud blocking out all sense of day and night. Over the Divide, though, the sun burned an angry red past the storm winds, staining the sky as crimson as a Legion banner; a reminder to all foolish visitors that, if this place were alive, it would be _furious_.

                _Trust Ulysses to set up in a land with a flair for the fucking dramatic_ , Jane thought as she sat watch on the cliff top, cradling her rifle. Behind her, she heard the slight rustle of movement as Ulysses stirred. He had slept much as she had, huddled against the cliff face, Old Glory within easy reach; the universal sleeping posture of couriers who walked rough and dangerous roads. Good sign, at least, if he trusted her enough to let himself rest around her.

                “Still here, Courier?”

                He seemed almost surprised, as if he’d half-expected her to steal away during the night and return to the Mojave. Man still harboured an obstinate belief that he was fated to be forgotten here, no matter how many times she returned. She smirked back at him.

                “Ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, my man.”

He snorted, but still came up to sit next to her on the rocks, one muscular arm resting on his leg as he gazed up at the sunrise. He was close enough that their knees almost touched, and she found herself very aware of this fact even as her eyes remained fixed on the burning sky above.

                “Something brings you back here, Courier.” His voice was low, his gaze curious. “Don’t yet know the name of it. Thought at first you came to see the scars you left on the land here, bear the weight of your actions; same reason I stay. Not so sure, now. Haven’t walked the Courier’s Mile a second time.”

                “Never too early in the morning for tough questions with you, is it? But you’re right, that ain’t why I’m here,” Jane replied, casting weary eyes downward over the blasted wreckage of Hopeville, the twisted steel and shattered concrete. The sun had cleared the horizon now, the red just beginning to fade from the sky. “Don’t need to come back here to remember what happened. It’s too burned into my mind. Doubt I could forget it if I tried.”

                “Carry your actions with you, then, like one of your deliveries. Long memory, not like the Bear you serve.” He paused. “Know your habits, too, from when you first led me here. Not like you, to stay in one place once your job is finished. This time, something in you keeps you from straying too far, sets you on the road home again and again. Must have some motive for coming here. Want to know the why of it.”

                Fucking hell, she wasn’t even _glancing_ at him and she could still feel his eyes boring into the side of her head.

                “Don’t quite know how to put it,” she said slowly, chancing a look at him.

                It was a bad idea. His intense gaze combined with his closeness to make the moment feel almost intimate. Jane felt heat spread over her cheeks, and prayed he wouldn’t notice in the poor light.

                _Shit. Shit. Shit. Why the hell is he so curious, anyway?_

                Hell, this was probably some kind of cosmic retribution for asking half the Mojave uncomfortable personal questions. She steeled herself.

                “Y’know, it’s funny,” she said, the corners of her mouth quirking up as she set her rifle to the side. “The Divide air’s more dust and ash’n anything else, but Vegas feels even more suffocatin’. At least here, I feel like I can breathe.”

                Ulysses nodded, seeming satisfied.

                “Realise it or not, Divide is your home.”

                “You think so?” Jane mused. “Always reckoned it was the people, made a place home. Ain’t the same without ‘em, even if you do go back.” Christ, but that brought up some bad memories. Empty houses, dead fields, dried bloodstains, never cleaned up…

                _Stop it. Focus._

                “Hm. Weight of experience in your words.” There was a question in his tone, one she didn’t yet feel like answering.

                “It’s too damn early for this kinda talk.” She clambered to her feet, grabbing her rifle, and as she did, her shoulder brushed against his. Just a moment’s contact, the fleeting sensation of another’s body heat, but she felt him tense up beside her. How long had he been waiting for her here, with no other humans for miles but mad, skinless ghouls? And before that – well, they were both couriers, and couriers walked some lonely goddamn roads. Hell, she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t doing anything to her herself. He was looking at her again, studying her. She tried willing her heart to beat a more normal pace, without much success.

                “Lemme rustle us up some breakfast. Been told I cook a mean mole rat stew.” She turned, rifle in hand, and headed out for the hunt, avoiding those piercing eyes.

 

                —

 

                “Ha! _You_ know how to brew bitter drink? _You_?”

                Jane burst out laughing. They sat cross-legged around a low fire – scarcely more than embers – as the sun hung high overhead.

                “Something amusing in that?” Ulysses looked up from his mixture, a furrow of irritation creasing his brow. She was getting better at reading his stony face, even with that damn mask in the way. After a morning spent scrounging for supplies in the canyon, they’d found enough xander root and broc flower that Ulysses had offered to teach her a new recipe – one that came as quite a surprise.

                “Ah, nothin’, nothin’,” Jane waved a conciliatory hand, still chuckling. “Just that it was the Grandmothers always used to make it, is all. Was picturin’ you as one of them, all hunched over an’ creaky-voiced. Don’t exactly suit you.”

                “‘The Grandmothers?’” Now, _that_ brow furrow meant confusion. “What do you-” And then, a flash of realisation. “ _You’re_ Twin Mothers. Didn’t think any still lived.” He looked at her curiously, setting the bottle aside.

                Jane nodded, her smile twisting bitter as the brew.

                “Yeah, well,” she said wearily. “Far as I know, I’m the last. You can thank your buddy Caesar for that one.”

                “Didn’t know you were of the tribes.” He didn’t break his gaze. Jane shrugged one bony shoulder.

                “Don’t talk about it much. You know how these so-called ‘civilised folk’ are. Soon as they hear you’re a tribal, they start thinkin’ of you as some kind of illiterate savage.”

                “Arrogance of those who confuse technology with wisdom, relics of the Old World with civilisation,” Ulysses nodded. “Mad Gods of the Big Empty lie at the end of that road.”

                “Yeah, exactly!” Damn, but it was good to talk with a fellow tribal again, especially one who’d wandered like her. “Hell, ‘Jane Finn’ ain’t even my real name, any more’n ‘Ulysses’ is yours. Stopped usin’ the real one ages ago, since some shithead caravaneer in a pit stop bar started crackin’ jokes and we ended up in a fistfight.”

                Ulysses snorted. She looked over at him, his eyes bright from the low firelight, a long hand resting on a steel-capped knee. “Speakin’ of names…” She began. “Somethin’ I been wonderin’ about yours.”

                “Oh?”

                “You said before you chose the name ‘Ulysses’ from a book, after an old general, yeah? Didn’t think the Legion let you pick your own Roman name.”

                “They don’t,” Ulysses said flatly. “Gave me another one when the Twisted Hairs first fell to them. Picked off a list, no meaning to it; not my name now. Chose a new one for myself when I became Frumentarius. Grant shared a name with a Roman hero,” he jerked his head towards their combined supplies, tucked away in the cliff face, where his new copy of _The Odyssey_ lay. “Only reason Vulpes allowed it.”

                Jane couldn’t help but enjoy the naked contempt in Ulysses’ voice when he mentioned Vulpes. They had that hatred in common, at least. Ulysses had looked the closest to pleased he ever had when she told him she’d killed the spymaster back in Nipton.

                “Didn’t take any of us into the Legion, I don’t think,” she said, her voice stained with old sorrow and long-held fury.  “Least, none of them that’d be old enough to remember where they come from. We weren’t warriors. Hunters, yeah, but not warriors, like the Sorrows used to be. Plus, it was the women used to make the big decisions for the tribe, and you can bet the Legion didn’t think much of that. Those of our men who wouldn’t bend knee to them they killed, and those too scared to stand up they killed anyway. For bein’ _weak_ enough to let themselves ruled by women, they said. Killed the women who fought back, too, and took the rest for slaves; the kids as well. The way Legion treats women, I doubt any of my people still live, ‘cept the ones too young to remember it no more, anyhow.”

                “But you survived. And now, you carry their history with you.”

                “Mm. I was just a kid myself when it all went down. I was a wanderin’ thing even then, always skippin’ chores to go explore the canyons.” A smile flitted across her face with the memory, gone in an instant, and never quite reaching her eyes. “That’s what I was doin’ the day the Legion came. Didn’t even realise until I saw the smoke risin’ up over the village, and the banners…” She stared at the flames, fighting down the prickling in the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t cried over it in a long time, forged the pain and anger into a purpose, one that had guided her hand – and her gun – at Nipton, Cottonwood, the Fort, the Dam. “Ran back and found myself on the cliffs above, looking down. They never saw me, but I saw _them_.” Each word was a snarl now. “Saw them, and what they did to my mother, my sisters, my _family_ …” Her voice cracked, and she cut it off angrily, her mouth set in a hard line. Ulysses was silent for a while.

                “Courier, you…” He started to speak, finally, but stopped short. His voice was surprisingly soft and hesitant, as if he’d meant to say something consoling, but wasn’t sure quite how. Still, coming from Ulysses, that was practically warm and fuzzy, and Jane found herself feeling oddly comforted by it. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

                “Anyway, that’s how I survived, when the rest of my tribe didn’t: pure, dumb luck.” The raw anger and sorrow had seeped out of her voice; only weariness remained. She took off her hat and smoothed down crow-black hair with one calloused hand, tucking a strand that had slipped free from her braid back behind her ear. Funny, but she was so used to wearing the thing she felt strangely exposed without it. “I wandered around for a bit after that, livin’ off the land like my mother taught me and hidin’ from anything bigger’n me. Ran into a caravan headin’ west eventually, and hitched a ride with them. Guard even taught me how to fire a gun. Kept on joining with caravan after caravan, ‘til I was grown enough to survive the wastes alone; get itchy if I stay in one place too long. Signed up as a courier ‘cause I figured I could get paid for the same wanderin’ I was doin’ anyway. You were wonderin’ about my history, before; now you have it.”

                “Why you hate the Legion,” Ulysses nodded slowly. “Bull took away everything from you: tribe, family, home. Can understand that.”

                “Ulysses, my man,” She fixed her hat back in place. “Legion’s got plenty goddamn reason to be hated, what with the whole ‘brutal raping slavers’ thing an’ all. But yeah, in my case, it’s goddamn _personal_.”

                He looked at her as if he were mulling something over, turning a thought about in his head.

                “Somethin’ on your mind?”

                “Yes. You killed Caesar, killed Lanius, made it your mission to watch the Bull’s flag burn, and all who follow it… But you wouldn’t take my life. Had reason enough to, yet something stopped you, stayed your hand. What held you back, Courier?”

                Jane’s eyes were tired over her lopsided smile.

                “You left,” she shrugged. “Simple as that. I figure if you ain’t Legion no more, I got no reason to hunt you down. Got enough on my hands fightin’ the current Legion, without draggin’ ex-Legionaries back into the mix.” He looked sceptical, his eyes slightly narrowed. “Look, Ulysses,” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Be lyin’ if I said your history sat easy on my mind, but so long as you _stay_ ex-Legion, I ain’t plannin’ on diggin’ up what’s past. You get me?”

It wasn’t a threat, not exactly; more like a contract. But hell, she’d made the same concession for Graham, and he was he was the former Malpais Fucking Legate, of all people.

                “It’s… Fair.” Ulysses gave a brief nod. “Never planned on returning, anyway. No future in the Bull, even before the Dam, back when Caesar still drew breath. Seen that, can’t go back.”

                “Heh, good thing too,” Jane smirked. “I really didn’t want to have to hunt your ass down through the Divide a _second_ time.”

                He looked indignant, and for a terrible moment she feared she’d pushed too far – but there was a hint of amusement in his voice as he answered, and she wondered if he saw her shoulders relax.

                “Hunt me? Believe _I_ was the one hunting _you_ , Courier.”

                “That so? Well, considerin’ we’re both still breathin’, I wouldn’t call it a very successful hunt.” She snickered. Ulysses shot her an exasperated look, but kept silent.

                The silence stretched on for several minutes as Jane, thoughts buzzing in her head like a cazador, stoked the meagre fire (well, prodded at it with a bit of broken railing, at any rate).

                “Gentle Rain,” she said, finally, looking back up at him.

                “What?”

                “Gentle Rain. That’s my real name, the one my mother gave me. ‘Sposed to mean bringing life to the desert, funny enough. Just felt like telling you. Ain’t told nobody else.”

                “You… Felt like telling me?” There was the confused look again.

                “Yeah.” She took a deep breath, and looked him straight in the eye. “I reckon you understand, better than most. Where I’m comin’ from, I mean. ‘S why I like talking to you, despite everything that’s passed between us. Know what it means to carry the weight of a lost tribe’s history with you. Know what it means to wander, lookin’ for a place to call home an’ never quite findin’ it. Hell, know what it means to lose a home, too.”

                Ulysses said nothing, but his gaze was intense, searching, as if he was trying to read something out of her mind. She gave him a wry look.

                “What was it you said? ‘Like you, and not like you, in all the ways that matter?’”

                He cocked his head at her.

                “Fond of turning my words back on me, it seems.” Once again, his tone wasn’t _quite_ teasing, but it was probably about as close as he ever got. Jane grinned, a little sheepishly.

                “Yeah, well. It’s true enough.”

                “Why you wouldn’t fight me at the Temple,” he supplied. A question, even if it was phrased with an air of finality. “Saw yourself in me.”

                “Mm-hm. That, and-” She paused, trying to put words to feelings. “That, and I reckoned I’d done you enough harm already.”

                Ulysses looked at her for a long while, before rising to his feet. With a sharp movement, he kicked dust over the fire, extinguishing the pitiful flames.

                “Owe me nothing, Courier,” he said. “Any debt between us has been paid already.”

                “It ain’t about owin’ you, or anything,” Jane scrambled to her feet as well. “Just not wantin’ to hurt a man who’s already hurtin’.”

                He offered no response; just moved back to his usual spot on the cliff top and sat, back facing her. For a moment, she thought again that she’d angered him – maybe he’d taken her words for pity? – but then he half-turned his head, not quite looking back at her, and shuffled over, leaving room for her to sit beside him. Gratefully, she took him up on the offer.

                There they sat, watching the fires of Hopeville below for signs of movement: the hunting of Marked Men or Deathclaws, or the burrowing of Tunnelers. Another question floated up in Jane’s mind, one she’d wondered for a while but never felt bold enough to ask.

                “Hey, Ulysses,” she started, cautiously. “Y’ever thought of rebuildin’ the Twisted Hairs?”

                He looked back at her in surprise.

                “‘Rebuilding?’ Told you before, those of my tribe that still live have forgotten their history. They would never leave the Legion’s banner.” He sounded mournful at this, as he always did when speaking of the Twisted Hairs, and Jane wondered if he’s already tried, and failed, to rekindle the old ways. She shook her head.

                “That ain’t what I meant. What I mean is, well,” She drummed her fingers on the rock beside her. “One of these days I reckon I’m gonna have a kid or two, and I’m gonna teach them the ways of the Twin Mothers. Maybe when they’re grown, they’ll teach their own kids. I know it won’t be the same, it ain’t ever gonna be like it was before, but it’ll be _somethin’_ , at least. You never thought about havin’ kids, teachin’ ‘em about the Twisted Hairs?”

                Ulysses shook his head.

                “No. Child of mine would have been Legion, raised by the Legion, taught to be Legion and no other. I would have had no say in it.”

                Jane cocked an eyebrow at him.

                “You ain’t in the Legion _now_ , though.” Ulysses looked at her flatly.

                “Divide’s no place for a child, Courier, not anymore. You know this, walked it yourself.”

                “Heh. If they were your kids, Ulysses, they could probably tackle a Deathclaw straight outta the womb. But no, I meant…” She waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the road out. “Could leave, y’know. Don’t _have_ to stay here. Y’could go somewhere that ain’t so irradiated and have enough kids to fill the Big Empty an’ teach ‘em all how to be Twisted Hairs.” His expression didn’t shift, his face still sceptical. It was a familiar pattern: every time she came here, she would try to convince him to leave, and every time he would insist that he had to stay, as if it were a kind of penance for what he had done, and nearly done. “Damn stubborn man,” she sighed.

                “Answer won’t change, no matter how much you ask me,” he said matter-of-factly; and then, almost as an afterthought, added: “Stubborn woman.”

                “Oh?” Jane straightened her back, feigning indignation with a badly-suppressed grin. At least he seemed to be in better spirits then he usually was when she brought the topic up. “ _I’m_ stubborn? Musta spent _ages_ , settin’ up the road and waitin’ in that Temple of yours, just so you could yell at me.  Brahmin-headed man.”

                “Hmph. Kept on the road, through wind and ash, Tunnelers and radiation, just to ask me the why of it. Obstinate woman.”

                “Really?” Her face split into the teasing grin she could no longer be bothered fighting. “Comin’ from the man who walked for days through the desert, into the lair of mad scientists, nearly gettin’ himself killed, just to figure out some weird weather patterns? Tenacious man.”

                “This from a woman whose first instinct, rising from the grave, was to walk the length and breadth of the Mojave hunting the one who put her there? Obdurate woman.”

                “Hah! Okay, okay, you win, my man.” Jane held up a hand, chuckling as she called a truce. “Don’t think I’ve even _heard_ that word before.”

                Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but she could have sworn he looked a little pleased with himself. Still grinning, she struck up a new topic, the two of them discussing promising ruins in Hopeville they could spend the afternoon exploring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments!! You are the wind beneath my wings, truly.
> 
> As you can see, it is Backstory Time.
> 
> Also nothing can convince me that Ulysses is not p. much the most dramatic person around. I mean, the dude even makes sure he has his back facing you when you enter the Temple, just so he can do the dramatic turn. You gotta admire a man willing to deliberately make a tactical misstep like that just for the sake of cinematics.
> 
> (Except one time I played I was skipping through his dialogue, checking the different options, and I accidentally skipped the part where he turns around, so we ended up having this incredibly tense conversation with his back to me the entire time, which was quite awkward.)


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

                “Look, all I’m sayin’ is,” Jane argued as she held a pair of sizzling gecko kabobs over the campfire. “NCR’s got its problems, true, but at least they got _some_ good bits. If you took the bad outta the Legion, there’d be nothing left. Least NCR’s _tryin’_ to not be awful.”

                Ulysses, sitting beside her, frowned. Well, she _thought_ he frowned, at least, judging by the knitting of his brows.

                “Said before, _trying_ doesn’t hold much weight with me. Bull knows what it is, doesn’t deceive itself. Bear hides the rot behind speeches and bureaucracy, pretends not to see the infection as it spreads.”

                “Oh, and that’s better, is it?” She arched an eyebrow at him. “Better to be a total asshole than a bit of an asshole, so long as you’re honest about it? Sorry, my man, it might sound good in philosophy an’ all, but here in the real world, real people gotta deal with the real consequences of real assholes.”

                She’d been in and out of the Divide the past couple months, running errands for the NCR, the Followers, the Brotherhood. Seemed like everyone had a task for the courier who, in Veronica’s words, “did the NCR’s job for them, and kicked Legion butt while doing it.” And with House’s death, the new treaties, and the NCR takeover, there was plenty of work needed doing. Amidst all of the chaos, though, there was one regular delivery route from which she would never stray: a parcel of food, books, and medical supplies to that lonely cliff above Hopeville, and the man who waited there.

                She found she thought about him a lot, when she was away.

                Ulysses shook his head.

                “Not my meaning. NCR follows symbols it doesn’t understand, copies all the mistakes of the Old World without thought. Rotting from the inside, will collapse in on itself in time; won’t need Bull’s help with that. Won’t matter being _nicer_ , if it can’t survive.”

                Jane peered at him, eyes narrowed doubtfully, as she turned the skewers. The smell of cooking meat made her mouth water.

                “Maybe so, but for somethin’ as bad as the Legion, endurin’ ain’t a _good_ thing. ‘Sides, you said yourself Legion would never last anyway, once it ran out of things to conquer.”

                “Why I left,” Ulysses replied tersely. “Could have been the empire Caesar wanted, had more foresight. Knew war, skilled at it. Fell upon the tribes like a terror. Twisted Hairs were warriors-” Jane detected a note of pride in his voice as she listened in rapt attention. It was rare for Ulysses to say much about his people before the Legion, and she couldn’t deny that she was damn curious. “-Wore our victories in our hair. But Legion was brutal, efficient, warfare of a kind tribes had never seen before. Still… Bull wouldn’t survive peace. Too good at making men hungry for war, sooner turn on itself than settle down. Caesar could take his empire, but never keep it.”

                “That’s what you said about your namesake, right?” Her tone was conversational. “This Grant feller, you said he was never made for peace.”

                “I… Did say that.” He responded slowly, cautiously. His shoulders tensed; a slight movement, but with Ulysses, slight movements were all you got to read. She lifted her head, peered at him curiously.

                “That why you chose the name? Think you’re the same way?” Ulysses didn’t respond for some time. The silence stretched between them, stiff and awkward, not like the usual comfortable silences they shared. Jane inwardly cursed herself, realising she must have overstepped that strange, ever-shifting boundary that seemed to exist between them.

              “Sorry. Didn’t mean to poke my nose where it wasn’t wanted, or anythin’. Always been told I’m too curious by half.”

                Finally, Ulysses spoke.

                “Old World saying about curiosity and cats, Courier, would do well to take heed.” He shot her a pointed look, but there was no fire in his voice. She would know if there had been; she’d heard plenty of condemnation from him before, the first time she walked this road. The tension in his shoulders loosened somewhat as he shifted to face her, and she let her own muscles relax in relief.

                “Thought so, once,” he said slowly. “Before the Divide… And after.” A stab of guilt ran through her at the mention of the destruction she’d unwittingly been party to, but he seemed not to pay it any heed. “Was Legion before the Divide; thought I would die under their flag. After… Thought I’d see my end either by your hand, or by the Divide itself, shades of NCR and Legion.”

                “Ah, but then I talked you out of killin’ me, and we teamed up and kicked their skinless asses, and now here we are.” Jane grinned, taking the cooked skewers off the fire. She offered one to Ulysses, which he took readily enough, pulling off his breathing mask. She watched the muscles in his arms shift beneath the skin as he moved, and wondered just how strong he really was. Damn good thing, that they’d never come to blows.

                “Hm. Never expected you to be mad, coming back to speak with a man who wanted you dead.” His tone was light (by Ulysses standards, at least), and she caught the faintest hint of a smirk in his voice, though his expression remained as morose as ever.

                The firelight flickered on his face, highlighting old scars and deepening the shadows under his eyes. She’d seen him without his mask a few times, now, but it still felt strange to actually see his lips move when he spoke.

                “A lotta people have wanted me dead, Ulysses,” she replied mildly. “You ain’t never put a bullet in me, which makes you a damn sight better’n most.” She tapped the scar on her temple with a wry smile. “‘Sides, I got enough grudges to be holdin’ already.”

                Ulysses snorted and bit into a hunk of gecko meat, and Jane followed suit. Gecko was gamey and rather tough, but it was goddamn delicious compared to, say, Bloatfly or Radroach, and at least it was cooked in _this_ century.

                She watched him surreptitiously as they ate, always intrigued by the difference in atmosphere when he took off the mask, the way its removal made the boundary between them seem narrower, weaker. He was less intimidating without it, more like Ulysses the Actual Human Being rather than Ulysses the Moderately Frightening Mysterious Angry Ex-Legionary, and she found herself wishing he’d take it off more often.

                When he was done eating, he licked his fingers delicately, something that she found perhaps rather more fascinating than she expected. He didn’t replace the mask.

                “Say you believe in bear’s potential, Courier, but wouldn’t stay West, couldn’t make it your home; said yourself even ash and ruins are better. Left Vegas lights behind you, like I left Legion fires. Same reason, maybe.”

                “Nah, it ain’t like that, _Courier_.” He gave her a sharp look at the title, but said nothing. “Never cared for cities, myself. Always preferred open roads and open skies, wasteland beasties an’ all.” Meal finished, she leaned back, doing her best to make herself comfortable atop the rocky ground. “Heh, Arcade looked at me like I was mad when I told him so; thought he was about to have me shipped back to Old Mormon Fort on suspicion of heatstroke.”

                “Old Mormon Fort?” Ulysses cocked his head curiously. “Followers’ base in the Mojave?”

                “Yeah. You’ve been there before?”

                He shook his head.

“No. Vulpes wanted to infiltrate it, strike at it from the inside, starve Vegas of medicine… Caesar wouldn’t hear of it. Seems old loyalties have a habit of lingering.”

                “Oh? You’d know that better’n anyone, Frumentarius Ulysses,” she scoffed at him, and he frowned back. “Still callin’ Legion your ‘brothers’ an’ all, even after leavin’. Still, glad it didn’t go ahead, no matter the reason. Followers’re good people; hope the new treaty with NCR does right by ‘em.”

                “Wouldn’t count on-”

                “Yeah, I know, you don’t trust ‘em for shit. Point is, I hated Vegas from jump. Me not stickin’ around got nothin’ to do with politics. Hell, with any luck, NCR’ll wipe out the Omertas and Vegas’ll become nearly tolerable. Still ain’t my kind of town, though. Anyway, you ain’t one to talk. I never heard you speak of Vegas but with scorn.”

                “Not wrong there,” he said. “A city of ghosts. Spectre of House haunts the casinos, and the tribes he brought to heel, playing the parts he gave them. Same sickness as NCR, blindly following the Old World, repeating history without learning from it. Bear and the city deserve each other.”

                Jane thought to herself that a man who wore the flag of a dead nation on his back and used to run with a bunch of would-be ancient Romans wasn’t in any place to be accusing anyone of Old World Blues, but she wisely decided to let it slide. Much as she enjoyed debating philosophy with him, there was only so much of his stubborn argumentativeness a woman could take in one day.

                “Mm. Ain’t just Vegas, though. Never really felt comfortable in any city, tell the truth. Now, Zion, on the other hand…” She deftly switched the course of the conversation. “Zion was damn nice. Clean water, livin’ trees, lots of game…” She paused. “Cazadores, too, but you can’t have everything. Pretty, to boot, an’ tribal country. Closest I’ve been to feelin’ at home since… Well, since Legion came to Twin Mothers. You ever been?”

                Ulysses nodded.

                “Once. Chasing rumours of Graham, turned out to be true. Left without bloodshed; saw no point in it. Others tried; had their heads on spikes, last I recall.”

                “Heh. Probably for the best you didn’t, then; he was expectin’ you personally. Least, that’s what I think he said. When we first met, I mean. Said he was expectin’ another courier to turn up.”

                “You met Graham?” Ulysses regarded her with raised eyebrows.

                “Yeah, signed on to help a caravan reach New Canaan. Didn’t make it; got ambushed by White Legs in Zion. White Legs were attackin’ the tribes there, tryin’ to take down Sorrows and Dead Horses for harbouring survivin’ New Canaanites. Seems _someone_ told ‘em wipin’ out New Canaan would make Caesar want ‘em on board.”

                She stared him straight in the eye, and he looked away. His face was as stony as ever, but his eyes were downcast – remorse, perhaps? Heard it, in the holotapes he left behind on the Lonesome Road.

                “Left the Legion after that,” he said slowly, his voice almost mournful. “Went back to the Divide. Couldn’t look at things the same way again, what they made me see…”

                “When they tried to copy your hair,” Jane supplied with a nod. “And the takin’ down of New Canaan itself. Heard your tapes.”

                Ulysses glanced over at her, his mouth still set in its usual melancholy frown. She sighed.

                “Well, just so’s you know, I ain’t gonna try and punish your for it. Already knew everything when I walked into the Temple; would’ve struck then, if I was ever going to. Besides,” She waved a hand down in the direction of Hopeville and its ruins. “Be a bit hypocritical of me, after talkin’ you into sparin’ me despite all this.” Ulysses watched her warily, as if not quite believing her promise of clemency. “Best hope Joshua don’t catch up to you, though; doubt he’d be so forgivin’. Man’s got a vengeful streak much nastier’n mine. Seen it in action myself.”

                “Helped him fight the White Legs?”

                “Mm. Joshua wanted to lead Sorrows and Dead Horses against ‘em. Daniel – the other New Canaanite – didn’t want to, thought Sorrows should stay peaceful an’ innocent. Plus, he was worried that Graham’d slip back into old habits. Had good reason to worry, it turned out. At some point, it started bein’ less of a fight an’ more of a massacre.” Jane straightened her back, pulling her hat off and wiping a few beads of sweat from her brow, formed from the fire’s heat. Still seated, she stretched out a leg and kicked dust over the flames with her boot-heel. Ulysses hated having fires burning for longer than was necessary, worried it might draw unwanted attention. She was fine with that; always had good night eyes anyway.

                “Hasn’t changed much, then,” Ulysses sounded thoroughly unsurprised. “Even Legion feared Graham, saw the brutality he was capable of… Not just enemies, Legionaries who he felt needed to serve as _examples_. When he fell, burning, into that canyon, saw many of my brothers look _relieved_.”

                “And you?” She felt that familiar stab of discomfort, hearing him call the Legion his “brothers,” but she tried to stamp it down. _You knew what he was when you came here,_ she told herself. _Lingering loyalties, indeed…_

                “Fear him? No. His kind of violence could only end one way, Courier. Knew long before his execution that his own nature would consume him.”

                “I dunno about that, _Courier_ ,” Ulysses shot her an exasperated look, and she grinned back. Good. Let him have a taste of his own medicine, see how _he_ liked it. “Think his nature might have actually changed. Managed to talk him down, in the end. Don’t think I coulda done that with the Malpais Legate.”

                “Right about that.” He tilted his head, appraising her. “Fall on deaf ears, even with your silver tongue… _Courier_.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice as he drew out the final word, and she snickered. She was beginning to feel more at ease around him, these days, feeling surer of the boundaries and knowing that, whatever he thought of her now, he at least no longer despised her. He no longer questioned why she came here; seemed to accept it. Didn’t protest when she passed him Stimpaks or RadAway, took the books she gave him, shared food with her without objection. She liked to think he even looked forward to her visits. He was certainly willing to speak to her; he never complained about it, but the solitude of this place must be maddening. He had the feel of a man who’d spent too long alone with his thoughts already.

                “Seems like he’s found some kinda peace, nowadays. Good thing too; last thing we need is the Malpais Legate comin’ back from the dead.”

                “Better to let his history keep, if it can,” Ulysses agreed. “Still… Knew the danger, Courier; helped him have his revenge anyway. Not like you, to risk resurrecting Caesar’s greatest warrior.”

                Jane shrugged.

                “Sorrows needed it. Daniel meant well, but he got it wrong. Even if they’d run from Zion, what’d they do the next time they came up against raiders, or the like? And the next? Knowin’ the Wasteland, there’ll _always_ be a next time. Can’t keep runnin’ forever. Gotta learn how to fight to survive.”

                “Twin Mothers didn’t fight, seem to recall.”

                She stiffened, the mention of her tribe unearthing old, bloody memories. She glanced at Ulysses, and saw him watching her intently, his face showing curiosity rather than malice. Slowly, she allowed her shoulders to relax.

                “Well,” she said, her voice low, her eyes meeting his; challenging. “I’d know better than anyone else how well that goes in the Wastes, then, wouldn’t I? Let the Sorrows ‘keep their innocence?’ Ha!” A short bark of sardonic laughter erupted from her. “ _We_ were innocent, and fuck all good it did us when Caesar’s boys rolled in. Sorrows might not stay ‘innocent,’ but at least they’ll stay _alive_.”

                “Hm. Wisdom in that,” Ulysses replied, with a brief nod. “White Legs were jackals; didn’t need _me_ to teach them violence, only new ways of making it. Never would have shown mercy, not to Sorrows, not to New Canaanites; not their way. Too late for Twin Mothers, but Sorrows could still be saved.”

                “Ain’t lettin’ another tribe fall to the Legion, that’s for damn sure.” Her voice was vicious, teeth bared as she spoke. “Not if I can help it. Not by slaughter, not by chains. No goddamn more.” Her eyes gleamed with rage. Ulysses met her gaze steadily, but said nothing. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, willing the anger to ebb away. “You may have a point, there,” she conceded, voice more even now. “It was goddamn _personal_ for me, even if I ain’t sorrows. Still think I did the right thing, though. ‘Sides, it’s what Randall Dean Clark woulda wanted. He was this guy who watched over the Sorrows when their ancestors were kids, see. Found some of his journals in Zion; he wanted Sorrows to be able to defend themselves.”

                “Told the Sorrows this?”

                “Nah. They think he’s a guardian spirit nowadays, call him ‘The Father in the Caves.’ Probably wouldn’t have believed me. Maybe he’d be happy to be remembered like that, I dunno. Felt sorry for the guy. Lost one wife and kid in the war, another of each in a childbirth gone bad, spent most of his life alone. Kept talkin’ about endin’ it all, but kept on goin’, helping people anyway.”

                Ulysses was silent, his expression thoughtful. Jane sighed, smoothing down her hair.

                “Y’know,” she began, voice uncharacteristically sombre. “The whole business with Graham got me thinkin’ about revenge, an’ killin’ Caesar.”

                He straightened his back, curious; a silent bid for her to continue.

                “It ain’t that I regret killin’ him, or anything. I mean, that’s one less evil sonuvabitch walkin’ the earth. I just… Didn’t find it as _satisfyin’_ as I thought I would. Knew it wouldn’t bring back the Mothers, of course, but guess I thought… Well, I hoped it’d make their loss feel a little less keen, y’know?” She waved a hand hopelessly. “Thought it’d be an ending to things, like everything’d _change_ , but I guess life just keeps on goin’, same as ever.”

                “Always the way of things,” Ulysses said, bitter understanding etched into his face. “Thought I’d have an ending of my own at the Temple; you and I would put things to rest one way or another.”

                “Yet here we are.” She smiled ruefully at him. The corner of his mouth quirked up briefly in response, a melancholy half-smile that was gone in an instant, but practically made her heart skip a beat with how unexpected it was. She felt curiously jubilant.

                God _damn_ , but she was glad he hadn’t put his mask back on.

                Emboldened by the gesture – and feeling warmth on her cheeks that she could no longer blame on the fire – she leaned in towards him, legs folded beneath her.

                “Hey Ulysses,” she began. “Been meaning to ask. What was it like, bein’ a Twisted Hair? Known a few tribes in my day; all of ‘em very different from the Mothers. Wondered what the Twisted Hairs were like.” He didn’t react, and she hastily added: “I mean, if you don’t want to, want to keep their history yourself alone or however you put it, I ain’t gonna hold it against you or anything.”

                “Still trying to understand me, Courier?”

                “Heh. If you’ve been paying any attention, _Courier_ , you should have that figured out by now.”

                He gave her a long, searching look, then nodded his head and began to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always amazes me that the Joshua "Dasheth-Thy-Little-Ones-Against-the-Stones" Graham that you meet in Zion is the comparatively _mellow_ version. I figure that, back even his Malpais Legate days, even the other Legionaries would probably have been scared shitless of him.
> 
> Another very dialogue-heavy chapter today; hopefully we will have more Jane and Ulysses actually doing things next chapter. Happy New Year, everybody! And as always, thank you so much for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: this chapter deals with some of the after-effects of the Courier's traumatic experience during Dead Money, so please be warned. This is the first time I've covered such a topic in my writing, so if I've written something unrealistic or offensive, please let me know so I can correct it!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading!

_Chapter_ _4_

                The door slid open with a rusty, metallic screech. The air inside the silo was stale and musty, but the relative cool was a welcome relief from the sweltering heat outside. Jane kept a tight grip on her rifle as she crept inside, quickly scanning the corners for Marked Men, or security bots. Ulysses followed close behind, utterly silent as he moved. She waited several heartbeats, listening close for the telltale sounds of footsteps, breathing, the hum of active machinery, but heard nothing. She relaxed her shoulders.

                “Clear.” She turned to Ulysses, keeping her voice low, just in case. “Least, down to the end of the hall, it is. Dust through here don’t look disturbed, though. Don’t think anything’s been down here for a very long time.”

               Ulysses gave a brisk nod and straightened up, submachine gun still in hand, a ratty old pack slung over one shoulder.

                “See the truth of it,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the still air. Jane felt the back of her neck tingle; he was still quite close. She forced the feeling down. He gazed at a fading flag hanging on the wall above the far doorway, it what must have once been pride-of-place; the twin of his jacket, blanketed in a thick layer of dust. “America sleeps deeper, here, than Hopeville or Ashton; no scavengers to disturb its rest. Might find some untouched relics here, weapons, ammunition… or Old World deathtraps.” Exploring the Divide’s many ruins had become a regular activity for the two of them, whenever Jane returned here.

                Which was quite often, really, considering how many jobs the Mojave still had for her. She found herself looking forward to their conversations, enjoying her time spent here more than anything in the Mojave, despite the dust and the storms and the radioactivity. When she went off exploring elsewhere in the desert, scrounging around for supplies and secrets, she even missed his rather… unique commentary. And, if she was being completely honest, she’d been having some rather _interesting_ dreams lately. Truth was, it was harder and harder to deny, now, that he had become _important_ to her.

                And yet, she thought bitterly, considering their history, she’d be damn lucky if he even came to think of her as a friend. Not to mention that the man was an ex-Legionary, probably at least half-mad, and a very strange man all around – although, to be fair, the last two could just as easily be said about her. Oh, and Arcade would definitely have her checked in to the New Vegas Clinic for a thorough psychiatric evaluation if he knew. And Boone, too, if he didn’t just try to kill Ulysses instead. And Veronica. And Cass, although she would probably suggest that Jane sleep with him, first, and then grill her for details all the way to the doc’s.

                Hell, she had half a mind to check herself in. Interesting or not, he was a former Legionary, had done terrible things in their name, still carried some lingering sense of loyalty – and not to mention he’d once _hated_ her, more than anything else in this world, wanted to nuke the NCR into glass. He was also quite determined that he would die here, among these irradiated ruins. She had to be mad, herself, to care.

                “Always a ray of sunshine, you are.” Jane poked around a row of ancient filing cabinets, sending dust flying into the air. Maybe Ulysses had the right idea, wearing that mask everywhere. The entrance room was fairly spacious, at least by cramped silo standards, though one corner was caved in, covered in rubble. A row of portraits decorated the wall to the right, proud Old World military uniforms still visible behind two hundred years of grime. Beneath the flag, a corridor stretched on into impenetrable darkness. After some searching, Jane pulled a couple of plastic-wrapped packages from a drawer, and made a face. “Oh, great. MREs.”

                She tossed the disgusting things to Ulysses, who caught them deftly and stowed them in the pack, setting it down in a heap in the centre of the room.

                “Foolish to pass over a meal, in the Divide,” Ulysses lectured. “Can’t count on hunting, have to eat whatever you can salvage.”

                “Oh, I’m still gonna eat ‘em,” Jane replied, still rummaging. “Don’t mean I won’t complain about it, though. Here, I found some ammo for you. Twelve-point-sevens.” She threw him a clip, which he glanced at briefly before tucking away in a bandolier pouch. Satisfied that this room was well and truly exhausted, Jane turned and gave Ulysses a nod, replacing her grip on her rifle. Ulysses slung the pack back over one shoulder and headed for the corridor, taking point this time. He had nice arms, she thought idly, as she watched his movements.

                The gloom of the corridor was claustrophobic, and Jane risked switching on her Pip-boy light, its dim glow bathing the metal walls. The hallway ended in an intersection; ahead of them was a steel door and a dust-covered window, a room packed full of computers and machinery barely visible beyond. To the left, the corridor led only to a poky janitor’s closet and a couple of bathrooms which, frankly, neither she nor Ulysses were in any hurry to explore. To the right lay a heavy blast door, large and forbidding. Naturally, this aroused her curiosity.

                “Any idea what’s behind there?” she asked Ulysses. “Doubt it’s warheads, or the Pip-boy Geiger counter would be goin’ crazy about now.”

                “Hmm. Other weapons of Old World war, perhaps; tanks, machines, power armour.” He studied the keypad lock, giving it an experimental press. No response. “Won’t be getting past this without electricity, need to wake this place up.”

                “Think that’s some kinda control room back there?”

                “Might be. Should take a look.”

                Dust lay thick in the cramped room, and Jane covered her nose and mouth with her shirt before stepping inside. There was barely space for the two of them to move; near every square inch of floor was taken up by machinery, intimidating in its silence, with thick, ropy cables trailing behind the consoles and up into the ceiling. A skeleton lay on the floor, scraps of dark olive fabric still decorating its yellowing bones; Jane grimaced as she stepped delicately around it. She dragged calloused fingers across the panels, wiping the dust from a dizzying array of dials and screens, reading labels under her breath in the greenish half-light. Ulysses looked on curiously as she worked her way, frowning with concentration, through a sea of arcane acronyms. Her fingers came to rest on a circuit breaker case, which she flipped open with a noise of triumph.

                “Ha! Here we go, ‘Emergency Backup Generator!’” She grinned, giving the lever inside a yank, and the silo flickered slowly into life, ancient electronics waking up from their long dormancy. Lights winked on across the panels, most of them flashing an urgent red. The machines started up a droning hum, grating uncomfortably on their ears in the tiny room. As she and Ulysses headed back into the corridor, fluorescent lights blinked on overhead – followed immediately by the flashing orange of warning lights.

                “Shit, the alarms from-” Jane began, and then froze at a too-familiar sound: the crackle of an ancient speaker, overhead, the sound of a distorted air raid siren occasionally cutting through the static. She gripped her rifle tightly, her knuckles turning white, her breathing shallow. _No, no, not again-_

                That’s when one of the machines started _beeping_.

                It was practically an instinctive reaction: whirl around, aim and fire; hear the satisfying shatter as the mangled speaker dies. Smell the gunpowder and, lurking in the background, the rusty stench of the Cloud. But the beeping didn’t stop; there must be another speaker nearby. She heard the crackle, turned the bolt and took the shot, saw the sparks scatter. But the beeping still wouldn’t stop, each note seeming more urgent than the last. She’d come too far to die now. In a last-ditch effort, she clawed at her throat, hoping, by some miracle of strength, to pull off the bomb collar without setting it off-

                But her fingers met nothing but skin. Confused, she looked around, saw Ulysses standing there, staring at her. No, wait, that couldn’t be right; Ulysses was never _at_ the Madre, he and Christine parted ways at the Big Empty… As her panic died down, bewilderment taking its place, she began to notice that the beeping was distant – not around her neck – and no faster than when it started, there was no taste of Cloud in the air, the surroundings weren’t like anywhere in the Madre…

                Because, of course, she wasn’t _in_ the Madre; that hell was long behind her. The past months came flooding back. _You’re here, in the Divide, with Ulysses,_ she told herself, something to hold on to as she struggled to keep her breathing under control. _You got out of there. You survived. Elijah’s rotting now. It’s okay._

                Ulysses was still staring at her. She snatched up her gun with shaking hands, unwilling to meet his eyes, and marched out of the silo muttering some excuse about bad air. Only when she was outside, in the sweltering heat of the Divide, did she start to feel better. Storms lashed at the sky above, but they were a far cry from the thick, choking Cloud. Her breathing ragged, she put a hand on the warm rock face to steady herself, letting her rifle drop to the dusty ground, angrily wiping away the tears that were trying to spill from her eyes. Behind her, she heard the creaking of the door as Ulysses followed her outside. She chanced a glance at him; saw him watching her in hesitant silence.

                A few minutes passed as Jane’s breathing slowly returned to normal, and her heart stopped feeling as if it were trying to beat its way out of her chest. She removed her hand from the wall, straightening her shoulders.

                “…Suppose you want to know what that was all about.”

                She shrugged off her heavy duster in the oppressive heat, tossing it in a heap over her gun and wiping the sweat from her brow.

                “Question had crossed my mind.” Ulysses followed suit, throwing his jacket down beside hers. Jane watched, transfixed, as a bead of sweat rolled its way down his muscular neck, his ragged shirt doing little to hide his frankly impressive physique. She shook her head, trying to clear the thought from her mind; although, honestly, it was a welcome distraction.

                The rocks and ruins here formed something of a shelter, debris on either side keeping out the worst of the biting winds, a portion of building façade wedged up against the overhang above providing scant shade – just a little cooler than elsewhere, but good enough. Not too exposed, either, but too much so for Tunnelers. She plonked herself down on the ground, waiting for the shaking to subside, and motioned for Ulysses to hand her the pack, fishing a bottle of precious clean water from it and taking a long swig. She tossed it to Ulysses, who pushed his breathing mask aside and drank without hesitation. Jane watched the water glisten on his lips as he handed it back to her, replacing his mask.

                She was grateful for his silence. If Arcade or Veronica had seen that, they certainly would have dragged her ass to Dr. Usanagi come hell or high water. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, to tell the truth, but dogged concern was honestly not something she could deal with right now. Maybe Ulysses was more familiar with such things than she’d thought, having seen – and done – the things he had.

                Jane patted the ground next to her, and he sat down willingly enough, still regarding her.

                “Old memory from the Madre,” she began slowly, long legs splayed out in the dust. “The Sierra Madre, I mean. You’ve heard the legend: an untouched treasure, a haunted casino, a poison cloud…”

                “You’ve walked the Madre? Survived it?” Ulysses raised his eyebrows. His tone was one of surprise, rather than doubt; another comfort to her. Most people probably wouldn’t have believed the story even were she inclined to tell it… but Ulysses was not exactly ‘most people.’ Had too many such stories in his own past to doubt hers, she supposed. “Thought before you were hard to kill. If even the Madre couldn’t take you… Might just be immortal, Courier.”

                Jane laughed bitterly, feeling a curious lack of unease at his casual reference to the time when he still wanted her dead. Testament to her growing increasingly used to him, perhaps, and the strange friendship (as she thought of it, although God only knew how he saw things) that had developed between them.

                “Didn’t go there on purpose,” she elucidated. “Was explorin’ an old Brotherhood bunker and got… gassed, or somethin’. Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up in the middle of the Madre with a bomb collar slapped on my neck and an old guy rantin’ at me through my Pip-boy. Old fucker’d rigged it up for remote detonation if I didn’t help him break into the casino. Thing is, though, the place was filled with a bunch of old, busted speakers and radio sendin’ out interference; could trigger the bomb anyway, if I got too close. Knew it was threatenin’ to blow when it started beepin’ at me.”

                “Your actions in the silo,” he nodded. “Heard the speakers, and the machines; tried to quiet them with bullets. Took you back there, like an old scar aching anew.” He seemed satisfied, his curiosity sated. Yes, she had the distinct impression that he knew damn well what he was talking about.

                _He_ may have been satisfied, but _she_ wasn’t. It had been the first time since she’d first dragged herself back to the Mojave – haunted and sleep-deprived, a holorifle in hand and as much stolen gold as she could carry, jumping at every shadow and electronic crackle – that she’d even spoken of it to anyone, and she didn’t feel like stopping now. There was a kind of comfort in getting it all out in the open.

                “Think you knew the guy,” she said, watching the storm winds roil from the (relative) shelter. “Former Brotherhood scribe, name of Elijah.” More surprise on Ulysses’ face. Before he could speak, she continued. “I know you were the one who sent him to the Madre, Ulysses, heard your holotapes. So in a way, you’re kinda to blame.” She flashed him a bitter smile.

                Ulysses frowned, brow creasing.

                “Not my intention, Courier.” There was a faint hint of hesitation in his voice, as if he was uncertain quite how she would react. “Thought that place would bring an end to him quickly enough, let him burn himself out among the ghosts.”

                “Relax, Ulysses. Don’t hold you responsible. Be a hypocrite if I did, considerin’.” She waved a hand at the wreckage around them, tired half-smile on her face. “Doubt you coulda known he’d get so kidnap-happy. Just found it a bit ironic, is all.”

                He was silent, staring at the ground, his expression unreadable even to her.

                “‘Sides,” she continued, aware that she would get no further reaction from him. “The asshole’s dead now, so I can rest a bit easier. Whole casino turned out to be one big trap, with the treasure as bait. Found out the vault was set to lock up tighter’n a Vault City wallet if someone poked around too much, couldn’t be opened from the inside. I couldn’t fight Elijah head-on, seein’ as he still had control of the collars; managed to trick him into sealin’ himself inside the vault instead, get out of reach of the detonator signal by the time he realised.”

                “Something poetic in that,” Ulysses nodded in apparent approval. “Old World mythmakers would be proud. Thought his own nature would consume him, sooner or later.”

                “Mm. Just wish it had been sooner rather than later. Always thought the legend of the Madre was just a trail-story made up by some bored caravaneer. Of all the goddamn times for those gossips to be tellin’ the truth…” Jane shot him a wry look.

                Her shaking had subsided by now, her heart finally beating a more normal pace. The Divide might be a storm-ridden, irradiated shithole, but it was a goddamn oasis compared to the Madre. If she focused on it – the burning heat, the gritty dust beneath her, the roaring winds, Ulysses’ voice – the Madre’s haunted halls felt very distant, nothing more than the bad memories they were.

                Ulysses was close beside her, watchful eyes scanning the Divide outside their little refuge for signs of movement. His presence, too, was comforting: both as companionship, and as a living reminder of all that had happened since the Madre, keeping her anchored in the here-and-now.

                Her throat was already dry in the desert heat, so she took another swig of water – trying not to imagine that the taste his lips still lingered on it – passed it back to him, and wiped her brow.

                “Saw the Cloud once, didn’t get close.” Ulysses stole a glance at her as he uncapped the bottle. “Scouting the West on Caesar’s command. Tribes nearby believed it to be cursed, home only to hateful spirits; might have been right. Sickness, there, in the air itself, and in those who come to scavenge the treasures  of the Old World. Thought it would devour Elijah before long, for all his Brotherhood _technology_.” The last word dripped with scorn. Ulysses took a measured sip of his own, and set the bottle aside. “Or if not, someone stronger, smarter, would end him. Wasn’t wrong there.”

                “Flatterer.” Jane smirked at him as she fished her hunting rifle from beneath her jacket, opening up the internal magazine. Didn’t do to go around with a gun only half-loaded; not here in the Divide. “Honestly, they kinda _were_ right. I mean, first you got the Cloud-” One hand counted off a long finger, while the other rummaged around blindly in the pack for the spare box of .308s. “Which, by the way, is not only toxic but stinks like rust and radroach guts and feels like it’s coatin’ the inside of your throat every time you goddamn breathe. Not to mention that you can hardly see ten feet in front of you inside of it.” A litany of complaints, long bottled up, spilled out of her. It felt _good_. She took a deep breath, and counted off another finger. “Then you got the Ghost People who go gurglin’ all round the place in hazmat suits tryin’ to kill you, ‘an no matter how many times you shoot ‘em they never fucking _die_ unless you start cuttin’ bits off, and they got goddamn traps everywhere and freaky glowin’ eyes to cap the whole thing off.” Another deep breath; a final finger. Ulysses waited patiently for her to finish. “And _then_ , as if that weren’t enough, you got invincible fucking _holograms_ – mighta seen one at the Big Empty, only not so murderous – wanderin’ the halls like fucking electronic ghosts shooting lasers at y- Aha!” Her distracted fingers finally seized on the right box of bullets, interrupting her rant.

                “And still you survived.” Ulysses looked at her with something akin to respect in his eyes. Jane felt suddenly bashful, heat tinging her cheeks. She busied herself with loading two bullets into her rifle, replacing those fired back in the silo.

                “Heh, what can I say? I’m just too damn stubborn to die. Ain’t alone in that, either.” She shot him a mischievous grin, and he snorted.

                Jane slid the bolt back in place, and set the rifle atop her duster. For a few minutes, all was silent but the howling winds of the Divide.

                “You know,” she began, mood turning sombre. “It wasn’t just the danger made the Madre so awful.” Ulysses shifted to face her, head cocked to one side. A lock fell into his face as he moved, half-covering one eye, but he seemed to pay it no heed. She continued, resisting the urge to brush it aside. “Casino itself was the worst of it. Everything lyin’ around where it was when the bombs fell, all covered in dust. Sinclair – guy who built the Madre, y’know? – made the holograms in the building record the people in there, play them back. Seems his girlfriend Vera got trapped in the top floor suites, so the holograms there took her shape and voice, walkin’ the corridors apologisin’, beggin’ to be let out. Don’t know whether to call it creepy in a sad way, or sad in a creepy way. I tell ya, Ulysses, they weren’t wrong when they said the Madre was haunted.”

                “Ghosts of the Old World, thick in places like that. Don’t need holograms to feel them. Marks of history, speaking of a time long dead.”

                “Tell me about it,” Jane sighed. “Y’know, Dead Horses got a taboo against pre-war places. I’m startin’ to think they got the right idea. Used to bunk down up in the Lucky 38, but I started avoidin’ the place after the Madre. I mean, hell, I thought the whole ‘abandoned casino’ thing was creepy _before_ ; afterwards, couldn’t look at it without _rememberin’_. Too many damn ghosts.”

                “House’s madness. Wanted to keep the ghosts around, _obsessed_ with them. Never knew when to let history lie.”

                “See, this is what I mean.” A corner of her mouth quirked up as she gave him a sidelong glance. “You get what I’m on about.” One hand rested on his knee, and she idly wondered how he would react if she took it, how his fingers would feel twined with hers, his warmth on her skin.

                “Wouldn’t think it so unusual.”

                “Eh, you’d be surprised. But yeah, the whole place – the Madre, I mean – was goddamn miserable. Some pre-war singer, name of Dean Domino, was blackmailin’ Vera into helpin’ him rob the place, threatenin’ to tell everyone how she was addicted to Med-X. Turns out that was ‘cause she was dyin’. And the worst of it is, this fucker Domino’s still alive and kickin’, got ghoulified when everyone else died. Didn’t suddenly grow a conscience, either; he even shut Christine up in an Auto-Doc, cuttin’ her up to change her voice to Vera’s so he could open the vault lock. Shoulda killed him when I-” She stopped short, snapping her fingers. “Christine! _There’s_ someone else you know! You saved her in the Big Empty.”

                “The Brotherhood woman?” Ulysses looked curious. “Chased Elijah to the Madre after all, then. Couldn’t let go.”

                “Mm,” Jane nodded. “Bit rich for _you_ to say that, though.”

                Ulysses frowned.

                “Not a condemnation, Courier. Know what it means-”

                “-To chase someone you’ve got history with; yeah, I know, heard your holotapes. But anyway. She was a good friend, and friends are hard to come by in that hellhole. Couldn’t’ve survived without her. So in a way, by savin’ her, you kinda saved me, too. Bet that wouldn’t’ve made you too happy back then, huh?”

                “Got her wish, in the end,” Ulysses pointedly ignored her last remark. “Saw Elijah finished.”

                “Ha, yeah, we were definitely on the same page with that one. She decided to stay, after; make sure no one else tries to take the Madre’s secrets for bad ends.”

                Ulysses nodded absently, a touch of approval in his eyes. He had a scar on his jaw, she noted – amongst many others that decorated what skin she could see. It was an angry-looking thing, probably had been deep. He was lucky, in a way; a little further down, and it would have hit the jugular. She wondered just how many times he’d flirted with death; probably enough to challenge even her record.

                “Got conviction in her,” he said. “Can respect that. Brotherhood belief in guarding technology; may be truer to it than any of their elders.”

“You know, she mentioned you,” Jane said thoughtfully, turning to face Ulysses full-on. He looked back at her, curious. “Said a courier’d saved her, back in the Big Empty. Said he was trackin’ down someone himself, like she was Elijah; another courier. She told me that, when she found out _I_ was a courier, she had the strangest feelin’ that I was the one he was talkin’ about. Dead right, it turned out. Maybe she’s some kinda psyker.”

                Ulysses snorted again, but there was a hint of… uncertainty, perhaps, in his eyes.

                “Have a habit of leaving an impression, Courier. Never tread lightly, change the road as you walk it. Saw that in you, no doubt.”

                “Heh. I can’t even tell if that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult, my man.”

                Ulysses offered a vague half-shrug.

                “Observation, nothing more.”

                “If you say so,” she smirked. “It’s strange, though. You seem to pop up wherever I go. Not just here-” She made a sweeping gesture at the Divide around them. “In the Big Empty, too, I kept seein’ traces of you. Followed your trail-markers through there, like I followed ‘em through the Divide; found you and Christine’s old hidey-hole; heard about you from the Think Tank. I go to the Madre, I run into Christine, who talks about you, and then it turns out you’re the one who pointed Elijah in that direction in the first place. In Zion, I end up fightin’ the White Legs you trained, and Graham mentions you. Nash down in Primm talked about you when I asked him about the Platinum Chip job, the one you nearly got instead of me. I tell ya, Ulysses, it’s enough to make a girl seriously start believin’ in fate.”

                “Two of us, tied by fate?” Ulysses looked at her with narrowed eyes, brow creased in thought as he considered the idea. “Knew we were fated to meet in this place, _fated_ to resolve it, bring it to an end one way or another. Never thought we might be fated to walk the same roads, following each other’s footsteps as I followed yours to the Divide.”

                “We ain’t followin’ each other’s footsteps now,” she replied mildly. “Come to the same place, in the end.”

                Absent-mindedly, she reached out and brushed aside the errant lock of hair from his face. Her calloused fingertips ghosted along his cheek with the motion; a brief sensation of skin on skin, and the hard rise of his breathing mask. If she felt her heart lurch at the fleeting touch, it was nothing compared to his reaction: a sharp intake of breath, and a visible flinch of surprise. For a dreadful moment, she feared she’d screwed it up, shattered the fragile… _whatever it was_ that existed between them – but no, the tension gradually slipped from his shoulders, as his expression shifted from wide-eyed surprise to something curious, searching, almost _challenging_. She wanted to touch him more, and deliberately – _god_ , how she wanted to – but she wasn’t sure how he might react. Would he welcome such advances, or despise them? He didn’t _seem_ angry or uncomfortable, just very taken aback – as an ex-Legionary, she supposed he had no reason to expect gentle touches, especially not from her – but damn if he wasn’t a hard man to read. With all that had passed between them, was it even _possible_ for him to want her back?

                “Never asked you, why’d you follow my trail into the Divide in the first place?” Jane asked, hoping that talking would dissipate some of the tension in the air. “Caesar’s orders?”

                “You know the why of it, Courier.” Ulysses didn’t avert his gaze. “Same reason you followed me here, into the Divide. Heard my signal, brought you through beasts, radiation, ashes.”

                “Guess we’re two of a kind, you and I.” She nodded sagely. “Can’t leave goddamn well enough alone. Too curious by far. Ha, my mother always said it’d get me in trouble some day.”

                _Too curious_ , she thought, _and have a habit of leavin’ a trail of destruction in our wake_.

                She didn’t give voice to the latter thought, though. She’d had enough of melancholy for one day.

                “You know,” she mused, pulling herself to her feet. “I’m startin’ to think you were right, that this place might be home to me after all.”

                Ulysses gave her a quizzical look as she scooped up her gun and coat.

                “Seem to recall you saying that _people_ make a home, Courier.”

                “Know what I said.” She slung her duster over one shoulder and gestured at the silo door, struggling not to snicker at the dumbfounded look on his face. “You comin’? I ain’t gonna let some beepin’ stop me from nosin’ about, even if I have to shoot every goddamn speaker in the place. Too stubborn and too curious for that.” She winked at him. “You in?”

                She didn’t wait for an answer, feeling strangely light of heart and step as she heard him scramble to get up behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter_ _5_

                Ulysses picked his way across the canyon floor, Old Glory in hand, stepping carefully over irradiated puddles and bits of rubble. Jane followed close behind him, keeping a tight grip on her rifle as she scanned the high ground for signs of Marked Men. The two of them traced a rambling path through the bottom of the Divide. Ulysses hated to spend too long out in the open, so they stuck close to the boulders and the debris; anything that would serve as cover in a pinch. The sun hung low on the horizon, the sky above burning a furious crimson.

                Jane frowned at the rocks and ruins around them. Some of the terrain looked familiar.

                “We headed to the Temple?” she asked Ulysses. He nodded, not turning his head.

                “No mistake there.”

                “Didn’t think there was much left, after the whole ‘aborted nuclear launch’ thing.”

                Ulysses glanced back at her, shook his head, locks swaying with the motion.

                “No. Not all of it. Spears of the Old World are buried now, put back to their rest. Other parts of it survive; old storerooms, quarters.”

                “Reckon we can make it back before nightfall?” Jane nodded at the angry sun, a touch of unease in her voice. Tunnelers grew bolder once the sun went down, straying from their caves and hollows without the sun’s glare to ward them off. Back at their usual spot above Hopeville, it didn’t matter – if you stuck to the high ground, you’d be safe – but down here, there was a real risk of getting swarmed.

                Ulysses gave a half-shrug. The eagle-tip of his staff reflected the glow of the sky, looking more like a burning phoenix than a bird of prey.

                “Might be other shelters closer, true enough. Can rest easier in the Temple. Spent a long time there, waiting for you. Put up some defences of my own.”

                _Waiting for you_. The words sent a perverse thrill through her. Waiting for her, yes, but not in the way she _wanted_ him to wait for her, wanted him to long for her as she did for him…

                She shook her head, clearing the thought away. Something had changed, in their relationship, since that day in the strange silo; something subtle, but definitely there. She’d brushed his face (albeit by accident) and told him she felt at home with him; she’d expected him to press her on the issue, question what she meant by that, but he never did, never even brought it up. Perhaps he already knew.

                Whatever the reason, ever since then, every time she came to the Divide she felt like he was watching her, _studying_ her. At first, she had feared she’d made him uncomfortable, but… maybe it was just her imagination, but it seemed as if he stood just a touch closer to her, these days, than he had before; faced her more, when they talked. At night, too, he sat closer to her when it was his turn to take watch, and she rested easier knowing that he was near. Last night, when they bunked down up in the Crow’s Nest, he was there right next to her, so close that she could have reached over and embraced him, pulled him into her arms – and _god_ , she had wanted to do just that, wanted to hold him to her, to feel him reciprocate, to feel his scarred arms around her and know that this wasn’t just some mad pipedream of hers, that he felt the same.

                That, she thought bitterly, as she felt the crunch of rocks beneath her boots, was not goddamn likely. Well, she would settle, at least, for him growing a proper sense of self-preservation and getting the hell out of here, to stop saying that this was the end of his road, to stop showing so little apparent concern for whether or not he died here, because even if his life didn’t matter to him, god damn it mattered to _her_.

                Briefly, Jane wondered if it wasn’t some buried self-destructive streak of her own that made her start caring at all.

                Her reverie was interrupted when her eyes caught a telltale glint of metal from a distant rooftop. Her blood turned cold.

                “Sniper!” she yelled, but Ulysses was already staring himself. _Shit, man, don’t just stand there!_ Gritting her teeth, she sprang towards him, determined to knock him down and out of the firing line…

                But he moved too, in the same instant, towards her. He was stronger, broader of shoulder, and the collision sent her sprawling behind a cracked concrete barrier. A loud bang echoed through the canyon, a wet cracking as the bullet punctured through flesh and bone…

                Luckily, it seemed that their sniper wasn’t the best of marksmen – no ex-Ranger, for certain – his angle was off, and he only hit Ulysses in the leg. As Ulysses dropped to one knee, Jane scrambled up onto her own, steadying her rifle on the barrier in a practiced move, sighting through the scope.

She was the better shot. She saw the Marked Man drop, head snapping back from the impact of her bullet. Kill confirmed, she rushed to Ulysses’ side. Crimson stained the ground, but the blood flow was slow and steady, no arterial spurting. Non-fatal, but still a nasty injury; probably an anti-materiel round, from the size of the hole. She’d seen worse wounds, even taken some herself, but looking at it hurt.

                He had moved to _protect_ her.

                “Be more,” he grunted through gritted teeth. “Marked Men move in troops, follow old habits.” She nodded, pulling one of his arms around her shoulders to support him.

                “Yeah. I’ll take care of it. We need to get you to some kind of cover, though. Can’t fight ‘em off like this, and we’re sittin’ ducks out here.” His knuckles were pale as he gripped Old Glory.

                “Fought with worse,” he growled, but let her direct him anyway. A fallen, half-buried carriage from some ancient cargo train formed a secluded hollow nearby, part of a faded military star still visible on its thick metal siding. It would have to do. She set him down within its shelter, placing herself between him and the opening.

                Time to repay the favour.

                She heard a rustle behind her and cursed, wheeling round; the fool man was trying to rise again. She pushed him back down, hand flat against his chest. He looked up at her indignantly, still scrabbling for Old Glory.

                “Oh, goddamn- Stay _down_!”

                As if she didn’t have enough to deal with. She caught movement from the corner of her eye, the sniper’s comrades beginning to converge, searching for them. At least five, by her count; could be more still to come. Not a small troop, and they were in a bad position.

                “Backed into a corner, Courier. Better to die standing.” His chest was hot beneath her palm as he tried to push himself back up, blood still dripping from his leg.

                “‘Die standin’?’ You can’t even _stand_ right now; not on that.” She jerked her head at his wound, and he glared. “Listen, I ain’t plannin’on dyin’ here, and I ain’t lettin’ you die, either. Trust me on that, if nothin’ else.”

                Jane pulled herself out of cover without waiting for a reply, lining up a shot on a big one wearing scraps of centurion armour. The bullet struck him in the throat, and he went down; the others sprang into frenzied action. She pulled back the bolt and fired off another, quicker shot, cursing as it thudded into another’s shoulder. Not a kill shot; probably would’ve taken an ordinary man out of the fight, but these things were goddamn tough.

                She ducked back into cover at the sound of distant shouting, heard a couple bullets ricochet of the thick steel of the carriage. Thank god for military construction.

                “Spotted,” nodded Ulysses. “Be upon us, before long. Let me-”

                “Nope,” she snapped. “You got a melee weapon and a hole in your leg. Even you wouldn’t last long out there.”

                A spray of bullets pinged off the wall – submachine gun, judging by the rate and spread. She waited for a break in the fire, downed the shooter while he was reloading. She was about to move back, when she spotted a tall figure striding into the battlefield: another Marked Man, one of their head honchos or something, his metal faceplate beaten into a crude facsimile of Lanius’s mask. Jane failed to be impressed. She hadn’t been intimidated by the look _before_ she put a bullet in the Legate’s brain, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now. For one thing, much like his inspiration, the idiot had brought a sword to a gunfight.

                “Boss-man incomin’,” she hissed at Ulysses, shoving him down as he tried again to rise. “Told you to stop that! Stubborn goddamn man.” Now, here was another idiot who brought a staff to a shootout. Maybe it was a Legion thing.

                Jane took aim, fired off a shot, hit one in tattered NCR armour before he could toss a grenade. He collapsed as she ducked, drawing the bolt back, swearing and scrabbling in her pockets for ammo. She heard the blast as the ill-fated ghoul’s grenade went off; with any luck, it’d take out a couple more.

                “Won’t stop me from-” Ulysses growled as he tried once more to stand, grunting as he was met with another shove from Jane.

                “You. Stay. Goddamn. Put.” She glared down at him as she reloaded, the task swift with her practiced motions. “Mean it when I say I ain’t lettin’ you go get yourself killed!”

                Ulysses glowered up at her.

                “Don’t need your _pity_ , Courier.”

                “‘Pity?’” she echoed, eyes blazing. “You think this is _pity_?”

                That seemed to give even _him_ pause. Gun reloaded, she replaced the bolt, steadying the stock against her shoulder.

                “Ain’t gonna let you have him!” she snarled at the oncoming Marked Men as she dove back into the fray. “This one’s _mine_ , y’hear?” Her teeth were bared, her eyes wild; she ignored the sharp intake of breath beside her as she lined up the shot.

                The first bullet punctured that ugly Lanius mask, sending the leader’s head snapping back with a spray of crimson. She turned the bolt and took another shot without wasting a second, felling a former decanus behind him. The third shot downed one with an arc welder, which fell from his hands with a loud clunk; the fourth took out a scraggly-looking scout armed with nothing but a bowie knife (seriously, fucking _Legion_ ). Scanning the corpse-strewn battlefield, she spotted movement on a nearby rooftop. _Not fucking again_ , she thought, as her fifth and final bullet hit the sniper before he could even steady his weapon, sending the asshole plummeting to the canyon floor below. Magazine empty and all enemies finally dead, she retreated back into cover, panting with adrenaline. Ulysses was staring at her, eyes wide. Jane turned to him, catching her breath, and smirked.

                “Told you I wouldn’t let ‘em get you.”

                “You… did say that,” he conceded. There it was again, that _studying_ expression.

                “See? Shoulda trusted me.”

                She set her rifle aside, kneeled down to get a good look at his leg, taking off her hat so the brim wouldn’t get in her way. The blood flow was slowing, fortunately; the bullet had missed the major blood vessels. Flesh and bone were mangled, though; he’d need a Stimpak or two, she reckoned, to have any hope of making the hike to the Temple. Anything left over, the Auto-Doc could take care of, but they had to make it that far first. Personally, she never trusted those things after seeing what happened to Christine, but any port in a storm, and all.

                He sat there, supporting himself on his arms, as he patiently watched her examine his leg, only the fainted flickers of a wince betraying the pain he must be in. She looked him in the eye.

                “The hell were you thinkin’, man?” Jane’s voice turned serious. “Tryin’ to stand up and fight on this? Coulda got yourself killed, easy.” Her jaw was clenched, mouth twisted in a grimace that was half anger and half _hurt_. “Sick of you bein’ so goddamn eager to throw your life away.”

                She took his leg in both hands, checking for shrapnel as she suppressed a sigh. Now, she thought resignedly, he’d ask her why she cared, and she’d probably wimp out and be evasive again, and the argument would go on just as it had so many times before.

                “Could say the same the same for you, Courier,” Ulysses said pointedly. Jane’s face whipped up in surprise.

                Wait, what? _He_ was concerned about _her_?

                “The hell you mean, man?”

                “Know what I mean, Courier. Could have run, back then; didn’t have to _protect_ me, safer. Could have found better cover, leaving me behind, had me serve as a distraction… but you didn’t. Took a gamble, staying. Never took you for a gambling woman.”

                “Yeah? D’you take me for the kind of woman would leave a wounded man behind?” she asked tersely.

                He hesitated.

                “No,” he conceded, finally. “Not your way, true en- ngh!” Her fingers accidentally brushed the back of his knee, and he started.

                “Shit, sorry, Ulysses.” She paused for a heartbeat, words formulating in her head. “You pushed me outta that sniper’s path before, though, didn’t you? Can’t exactly go throwin’ stones at me for riskin’ myself to protect you, here.”

                He stared at her, pushed himself up to support his weight on one hand. She felt her heart hammer in her chest.

                “Said that your home was here, Courier. Said that _I_ -”

                An unmistakable growl outside cut off whatever he was going to say next. The sound was distant, but the two of them had sharp ears, and the noise was all too familiar; the plodding footsteps that followed confirmed it.

                Deathclaw!

                Big one, too, judging by the weight in its tread. Jane cursed inwardly. Ulysses’ leg was still injured, and she hadn’t reloaded her gun from the last fight. She’d gotten too damn complacent, or too damn worried about Ulysses, or – something, whatever, not important right now.

                Ulysses tried to push himself up – was he honestly _still_ going to try to fight? – so she gave him a light shove downwards. He fell backwards, clutching at her back to steady himself, looking up at her in indignant surprise.

                She splayed a hand out on his chest, pressing down gently, urging him to be still. She tried to ignore the warmth and the feel of hard muscle beneath her fingers as he finally complied, his eyes boring into hers. She held a finger to her lips in a warning gesture, flicking her eyes between his face and the carriage opening. Below her, he gave a barely perceptible nod. They stayed there, air thick with tension, straining their ears for the sound of the beast outside. His hand still rested where it fell between her shoulder blades, the feel of it distracting her from her mental calculations. Judging from its distance, she alone would have time to snatch up her gun and duck out, find some cover to reload… but it was a risky proposition. Deathclaws had keen hearing, and it would certainly detect the scrabbling of dust, or the click of the bolt. Not to mention that Ulysses was in no shape to be following her in such a manoeuvre; if the Deathclaw came their way, he was practically gift-wrapped for it. Couldn’t get much use out of Old Glory from a prone position in cramped quarters, either. Veronica and her power fist would have come in damn handy, here.

                The snorting and heavy footsteps drew closer to their little hideaway, and Jane felt her muscles tense, breath catching in her throat. Ulysses, for his part, looked curiously unafraid – but then, she supposed, he was already far too prepared to die.

                His gaze was steady, as it held hers, and there was something reassuring in that; the hand on her back shifted slightly, sending pleasant tingles down her spine.

                The footsteps plodded away again, and she allowed herself to breathe once more. A horrible crunching sound made her wince; the tearing of flesh and cracking of bone and creaking of old armour as the Deathclaw began to feast on the Marked Man buffet she’d so thoughtfully laid out for it. It took several such meals before the beast’s footsteps began to fade off into the distance as it let out a satisfied rumble, finally full. That, at least, was good news: Deathclaws tended to gorge themselves, when they could, then head back to the nest for a long nap. She counted the heartbeats, listening intently, but there was no further sound but the howl of distant storm winds; it had finally gone.

                With a burst of mad laughter, Jane collapsed in relief, muscles feeling like jelly. Her head fell against Ulysses’ broad chest, nestling comfortably around his collarbone; she was too drained from their recent brushes with death to be cagey about the body contact. He was still tense below her, although whether from the Deathclaw or the sudden touch, she couldn’t be sure. Still, he made no effort to brush her off, so there she stayed. Soon, she supposed, the spell would break, but she was content for now.

                “Jesus, Ulysses,” she laughed breathlessly, fingers clutching at the threadbare fabric of his shirt, enjoying the feel of his warmth against her cheek, his heartbeat – unsurprisingly fast – against her ear, his strong body beneath hers; too giddy with relief to worry about anything but the moment. “I can’t tell if someone up there loves us or hates us.”

                Any second now, scolded a dim voice in the back of her mind, he would probably throw her off in discomfort or disgust, and the strange _whatever it was_ that existed between them would be broken-

                But he did not push her off.

                “No place for gods in the Divide, Courier.” His deep voice rumbled in his chest. God, she wished she could stay like this forever. “Land has anger enough of its own.”

                “Just a figure of speech, my man, don’t mean nothin’ by it. Hell, so long as we both make it outta here with our hides intact, I don’t much care _who’s_ watchin’.”

                His hand still lay heavy on her back; his thumb made a few tentative strokes of a shoulder blade, and she _shivered_ at his touch. She let out a murmur of appreciation, so low as to be barely audible, too damn tired right now to care _what_ his motivations were. She nuzzled against his chest, felt his shallow breathing, though whether from desire or adrenaline or pain from his leg, she didn’t know-

                _Oh, fuck, his leg!_

                Jane scrambled off of Ulysses, cursing herself. She’d been so goddamn wrapped up in her own feelings that the interrupted first aid had completely slipped her mind. She stammered apologies as she hunted around in her pockets for Stimpaks, avoiding his eyes. Finally, her fingers closer around a Super Stimpak, which she promptly jabbed into his thigh. He flinched, and then relaxed as the Old World medicine did its work, speeding up his natural healing rate. She let out a sigh of relief as she watched the flesh knit together, only then willing to look at his face.

                He was still watching her intently, his gaze cautious; she hadn’t the faintest idea what he was thinking.

                “Sorry ‘bout that,” she mumbled. “Got a little distracted. Y’know, with the Deathclaw and all.”

                He sat up, giving her a half-shrug as he stretched his leg out experimentally.

                “No shortage of danger in the Divide.” His tone was as even as ever; no hint of accusation, which comforted her. “Has a habit of it, not satisfied with setting just one foe against intruders.”

                “Heh, tell me about it.” She shot him a weary grin, replacing her hat. “If we ain’t careful, we’ll have a load of Tunnelers poppin’ up next.”

                Ulysses snorted.

                “Wouldn’t give voice to it.” He reached out to pick up Old Glory. “Know anything about fate, it has a sense of _humour_.”

                She laughed bitterly, rising to her feet, and extended a hand to him. He took it without comment, letting her help him up, resting the bulk of his weight on Old Glory; he was still unsteady on his feet as his muscles healed. His hand was warm, and rough with callous; Jane’s back still tingled with the memory of its touch.

God, she was hopeless.

                Still, as they made their slow way towards the Temple, the atmosphere was… different. Ulysses was silent, but even as she took the lead, reloaded rifle tight in her hands, she could feel his eyes boring into her the whole time.

                She would have given every cap in every casino in Vegas to know what he was thinking, right now. In her mind, however, just one thought dominated:

                _He didn’t push her away._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for tuning in to the latest installment of Cockblocked By A Giant Fuckin' Lizard: The Courier Six Story.
> 
> Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner; I had a slight change of plans while writing. Sorry if this one's a bit rushed!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so... This chapter was an experience. I've never written this kind of scene before, haha...  
> I was thinking maybe I should up the rating for this chapter, but AO3's ToS is pretty vague about what the ratings mean. Lemme know if you think I should.  
> ...OK goodbye.

_Chapter_ _6_

                His old quarters in the Temple – if they could even be called that – were Spartan, to say the least; more like an indoor campsite than anything else. A dingy old mattress lay on the floor of an ancient command room, a few bottles of water standing beside it. Piles of books were scattered about: those still legible by the bed, whereas those too charred or dirtied or otherwise damaged to be read were heaped near the remains of a makeshift campfire. Several boxes of ammo were stacked around what looked to be a small crate of grenades, and a threadbare old duffle bag held his food stores: some scavenged pre-war foods, like Cram and Dandy Boys, but mostly just the noxious MREs; no wonder he never hesitated to eat the food that she brought. A tattered Old World flag dominated one wall, looking strangely forlorn in this abandoned place.

                Ulysses strode in without comment, propping Old Glory up against the wall.

                “So,” Jane said, taking it all in. “I’m guessin’ you ain’t been bringin’ many girls back here.”

                He gave her a flat look, not dignifying that with a response. He swept past her instead, seating himself beside the miserable mattress, facing the cold ashes of the fire; perhaps out of habit more than anything else. Jane set her own weapon aside and took a seat next to him, sweeping of her hand and smoothing back loose strands of hair from her forehead. Ulysses fumbled with the straps on his breathing mask, casting it off to take a long swig of water, then passing the bottle wordlessly to her. As she drank, she couldn’t help but notice how the water glistened on his lips, couldn’t help but remember, back in the canyon, how he’d touched her, how she’d felt his warmth beneath her…

                She turned to browse through a book pile, searching desperately for something to distract her from the rising heat in her cheeks. For a moment there, after the Deathclaw left, she had thought- But no, if the mood had not carried past the cold metal walls of the Temple, then her pressing the issue would probably just lead to discomfort all around.

                The books were all over the place in terms of subject matter; Ulysses had clearly salvaged all the surviving tomes that he could find. Another thing they had in common, Jane thought idly as she flipped past a few worryingly dog-eared issues of the Patriot’s Cookbook. When she saw what lay beneath, she let out an appreciative whistle.

“ _King Lear_? Nice. I used to make regular deliveries for some NCR fat cat down in Shady Sands, real big fan of this stuff. Once paid a thousand caps for a copy of _Hamlet_ that the prospector _swore_ was fully intact. Turned out there was a big chunk of Act Four missin’.” She frowned. “Y’know, I never did see that prospector around again.”

                “Not surprising,” Ulysses scoffed. “For all its pretensions, Bear can be just as vicious as Bull… same cruelty, same vengeance, with none of the self-awareness.”

                “Dunno about that, my man,” Jane replied thoughtfully. “I ain’t never seen NCR put a guy up on a cross an’ leave him to linger. Now, gangs of New Reno, on the other hand…”

                Ulysses nodded.

                “Killing fields of Golgotha, graveyard for those fool enough to cross Reno’s families; walked there before. Put Inculta to shame.”

                “Ha.”

It was not a happy laugh; more the bitter laugh of one who has seen far too many horrors than should be allowed in one lifetime.

                Yet another thing they had in common, she supposed.

                Ulysses glanced at the book in Jane’s hands, and shrugged a shoulder.

                “Means anything to you, keep it.”

                “What, really?” She eyed him sceptically. “You’re givin’ me a _present_?”

                “Gotten enough gifts from you, Courier; medicine, food. Don’t like having debts.”

                “Aw, an’ here I was hopin’ you’d wrap it up in a nice little bow for me,” Jane snickered. Ulysses shot her a pointed look. Still, she tucked it into her jacket; an inner pocket, about the breast, reserved for precious things. If he realised what the gesture meant, he did not comment.

                “Done nosing around, Courier?”

                “Well,” she gave him a wry look. “Can’t blame a girl for bein’ curious. Said it yourself, spent a long time here waitin’ for me.”

                He didn’t respond for some time; his gaze was wary, as if he suspected she was leading him into some kind of verbal trap.

                “History we share…” he said finally, his tone guarded. “Long time spent planning here, thinking how I would confront you, Courier who burned her home, and mine. Never expected both of us to leave this place alive… much less return to it.”

                “Life’s just full of surprises, ain’t it?”

                “Truth there. Never expected you to come back here. Not after winning the Dam for the Bear; wouldn’t have thought there to be much left for you, here. Never expected you to _keep_ coming back, never expect you to try to _protect_ me… keep finding new ways to surprise me, Courier.” There was a trace of amusement in his voice. She grinned back at him.

                “What can I say? I got a gift for surprisin’ people.” She peered around the ancient room. “Bit basic, though, ain’t it? All that time, never thought to hole up somewhere nicer?”

                “Slept in worse, Courier, same as you. Don’t need luxury.”

                _Proper bed don’t exactly count as ‘luxury’_ , thought Jane, but she decided it would be useless trying to argue the point with him.

                “Hey, Ulysses,” she said instead. He looked back at her quizzically. He was close, she realised, and he hadn’t replaced his mask – close enough that she could probably have grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss; tasted his lips as she so desperately wanted to and felt the rasp of his stubble against her face. Granted, she would probably have about six seconds to live if she did that, but hell, part of her felt like it might be worth it.

                “Just so you know,” she continued, chasing such thoughts away. “I dunno about you, but I’m happy with the way it all turned out. Ain’t regretted any of those surprises for a second.”

                His eyes widened – just a fraction, but you learned to read subtle changes of expression real quick, spending time with Ulysses. It looked like she’d caught him off guard again; maybe she really did have a talent for it.

                Ulysses held her steady gaze for some time, and then nodded – in gratitude? In simple acknowledgement? Who could say, with him – before turning his attention to his old duffle bag. He pulled out an MRE for himself, and tossed her a box of Dandy Boy apples.

                “Have these,” he said. “Don’t need to hear more complaints about Old World rations.”

                “How sweet of you to remember, Ulysses,” she snickered.

                They ate in companionable silence; Ulysses chowing down on a disturbingly gelatinous MRE while heroically showing no sign of disgust, Jane popping over-dry apple slices into her mouth while trying hard not to think about what the hell they put into the things to make them last two hundred years.

                After the meal, Jane stole a glance at Ulysses’ leg, his trousers still sporting a bullet hole and bloodstains. He’d been steadier in his step, the closer they got to the Temple, showed no sign of limping inside, but she hadn’t had the chance to give him a proper examination.

                “How’s the leg doin’? If it ain’t fully healed, the auto-doc down in maintenance might still be-”

                “No.” He shook his head. “Healed already. No need to concern yourself with me, Courier.”

                Jane narrowed her eyes at him doubtfully.

                “Ulysses, if this is you doin’ some kinda ‘don’t pity me’ tough guy bullshit, I’m gonna be _pissed_. Just so you know.”

                He snorted, a flicker of amusement crossing his face.

                “Hmph. Would expect no less, from you. Seen mothers of infants, fretted less.”

                “Oh?” She arched an eyebrow at him, steadying herself on one hand as she turned to look him full in the face. “‘Course not. Bet their kids ain’t tryin’ to take on a full troop of Marked Men with a shattered shinbone and a big stick, eh?”

                “Child of yours, Courier, wouldn’t put it past them.” He gave his leg an experimental stretch. “Old World medicine did its job, no doubt there.”

                “Still, feel better if I take a look at it.” Jane shrugged off her jacket and moved to kneel before him.

                “Don’t think I know enough of medicine to say?”

                “Come off it, man, you know it ain’t that. Just seen too damn much of people sayin’ they’re okay when they ain’t. Gettin’ a bit sick of it.”

                “Include yourself in that, Courier?”

                She gave him a flat look in response, and nodded at his bad leg.

                “Mind if I…?”

                “Brings you some kind of comfort, then look for yourself,” he answered, shrugging a shoulder.

                She flashed him a fleeting smile before turning her mind to his leg. Two holes still lay in the fabric of his trousers, where the bullet had punctured in and out. Blood stained the material, dark crimson already drying to rust in the arid heat. Smudges of dirt clung to his pants, thicker where the omnipresent dust had stuck to the wet blood. It was going to take some serious laundering, she reckoned, to make these things not awful again.

                She rolled the pant leg up to his knee. A stray finger brushed along his calf, and she tried to ignore the slight intake of breath that accompanied it, tried to focus on the task at hand.

                _You’re_ supposed _to be doin’ medicine, here_ , she chided herself. _What would Arcade say ‘bout havin’ dirty thoughts about a patient?_

                Well, Arcade would probably ask what the hell she was doing palling about with an ex-Frumentarius who once wanted her dead, but that was neither here nor there.

                Jane held Ulysses’ leg gently in both hands, lifting it this way and that, frowning as she tried to get a good look at what remained of the bullet wound. Ulysses tensed, calf muscles tightening beneath her fingers. His skin was hot against her fingertips.

                Little remained of the entry and exit wounds but reddened, fresh scars, but even these were not too conspicuous against all the other scars that crisscrossed his skin. There were thin scars, jagged scars, even what looked like bites from a dog or coyote.  Absent-mindedly she traced a thumb over one nasty line below his knee, heard a hiss.

                “Jesus, Ulysses,” Jane breathed. “Ever met anyone who _weren’t_ tryin’ to kill you?”

                “Short supply of those, in the wastes,” he responded drily. “Never thought _you_ would be one.”

                “Heh. I live to please.” She grinned as she examined the newest addition to his collection. The flesh outside had certainly healed up fine, but the deep tissue might be a different story. She gave the scars a few experimental pokes.

                “This hurt?”

                “No more than usual, being prodded at by a stubborn woman.”

                She ignored this, still frowning at the scars. Well, if there was any remaining damage, it was beyond her ability to diagnose, and she couldn’t physically force him into an auto-doc, tempting as the thought might be.

                She tugged his trouser leg back down. He said nothing, but there was a definite ‘told you so’ air to his expression.

                “Seems fine to me.” She didn’t get up; her hand still rested lightly on his leg. “All right, don’t give me that look. Better safe ‘n sorry.”

                Ulysses snorted.

                “Never did anything _safe_ in your life, Courier.”

                “Probably why I been so often sorry, then. Face it, man, two of us are damn lucky to have made it this far.”

                “Wouldn’t say luck,” he scoffed. “Stubbornness, more like, said it yourself.”

                “Either way,” Jane shrugged. “Ain’t good to go bankin’ on it. You and I, we only got so many more lives left in us. I plan on keepin’ mine; would be easier without havin’ to do the work of keepin’ yours too.”

                “Hm. Did say you wouldn’t let me die, back there.” His gaze was piercing. God, why didn’t she move away? Go too far down this road of conversation, and there was no going back.

                “Huh. Didn’t think you could hear me over your own fool bravado.”

                She was a fine one to be talking about ‘bravado,’ she thought, with her blood pumping so hard in her ears. But Ulysses was undeterred.

                “Won’t deflect questions with _words_ , Courier, not this time.” He leaned forward, balancing his weight on one arm. “Asked you before why you cared, why you came back… why you _stayed_.”

                The air was heavy between them. Jane knew she should be formulating a response, but all she could think about was his mouth, so close to hers; his heath, beneath her fingers; how she could feel his movements, when he shifted-

                _Not the time_ , she scolded herself. She could try to deflect again, laugh it off as nothing… but she had the nasty feeling that if she tried that now, and he believed it, he’d not ask again – that would be the end of things. Much as she feared how he might react, she knew she’d regret it if she let that happen. No, it was time to lay her cards on the table and see what the dealer had in store.

                She brought herself up to one knee, meeting his eyes steadily, filled with new resolve. Their faces were bare inches apart.

                “Goddamn it, Ulysses, is it so hard to beli- Mmf!”

                Calloused fingers tangled into her hair, loosening her braid messily as he pulled her in. His lips were dry, and tasted of Divide dust, but his kiss was surprisingly gentle, for an ex-Legionary – at least, once the initial shock had worn off. His other arm snaked around her hips, urging her body closer to his. Jane’s surprise gave way to desire as she began to reciprocate in earnest, returning the kiss hungrily, allowing her weight to rest on him as she grabbed his face in both hands, stubble rasping at her palms. She’d wanted this, _god_ how she’d wanted this.

                Her passion seemed to feed his, and before long he was nibbling at her bottom lip whenever she pulled back. He tightened his grip, dragging her half into his lap and holding her flush against him. He _shuddered_ when her fingers brushed his neck, behind his ears, so she made sure to do it again. She found she liked to see that from him, wanted to have him _gasping_ under her touch.

                “Know why you came back, Courier.” His breath was hot against her ear, and she shivered. “Came back for _me_ , time after time. Can’t deny it; heard it in your voice, back then, why you stay.” He nuzzled at her neck, his stubble scratching pleasantly against her skin. His lips and teeth sought the curves and hollows of her throat as she held him close, biting her lip to stifle a moan as his other hand took to wandering her back and found bare skin to stroke where her shirt had come loose from her belt.

                “Took you goddamn long enough,” she managed to gasp out. He let out something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

                His big hand crept up the back of her shirt, traced up her spine. She felt him frown against the side of her neck as his thumb found the long, perfectly vertical scar that ran the length of her backbone.

                “Souvenir from the Big Empty,” Jane grimaced. “Tell you some other time. Not now.” She pressed a series of kisses along Ulysses’ jaw line to bring him back to the moment. He kept on caressing her lower back, his touch so infuriatingly light and slow that she wondered if he was hoping to make her beg. Her hands did some wandering of their own, feeling his broad shoulders, the hard muscle of his arms. They were covered in intricate patterns of scars, a legacy from the Twisted Hairs; absently, she traced the lines with her fingers, felt his breathing hitch.

                He squeezed her tight – and then, before she could react, he rolled her over in one swift movement, half onto the mattress with him on top of her. Jane let out an undignified squawk of surprise. Her first impulse was to flip him back over, give him a taste of his own medicine, but she found to her irritation that his strong body would not budge.

                He had an arm beneath her, bearing his weight, careful to keep the worst of it off of her. She was surprised by his consideration; but then again, she’d been surprised by a lot of things, today. She had been prepared for him to be a bit on the rough side, considering his – and their – history, but while he wasn’t exactly _soft_ , it seemed he was attempting to be gentle with her.

                It was a side of him that was wholly unexpected, but left her feeling warm inside, complementing the fire he stoked with his hands and mouth. She clung tight to him, parting her lips eagerly as his mouth sought hers once more. His kisses were longer and deeper than before; he barely gave her time to come up for air. Her fingers twined into his locks.

                “Waited long enough for this,” he growled into her mouth. “Sick of dancing around it.”

                “Hang on,” she panted, between kisses. “ _You_ were waitin’ for _me_ to make a move? I was thinkin’ you’d run a mile if I did!”

                “Hm.” He drew back, barely a fraction of an inch. “Not alone in that,” he confessed, free hand combing out the mussed-up remains of her braid, letting her long hair fall free. “Wanted this, _hungry_ for this, but never thought that _you_ might want it, be so mad as to desire a man who once wished you dead. Said I was your home, I realised it.”

                “Didn’t do anything, though,” Jane frowned. “Just kept on watchin’ me. Huh, didn’t think a Legion boy’d be _bashful_.”

                “‘Bashful?’” he echoed. “Didn’t think you’d want to be _taken_ , Courier. Wanted to let you come to me, wouldn’t think I was doing what you hate most about the Legion.”

                “You mean to tell me,” Jane replied, realisation dawning on her face. “That _you_ were bein’ _gentlemanly_?”

                She burst out laughing. Ulysses gave her an indignant look, but she thought she saw a trace of warmth in his eyes as he lowered his head to hers once more.

                “Oh, an’ one more thing,” she laughed, holding him at bay. “You keep callin’ me ‘Courier’ in bed, and I’ll kick your ass from her to Reno. I got a name, y’know.”

                “Fine… Gentle Rain.”

                _That_ gave her a start. No one had called her by her tribal name, her _real_ name, in a very long time, and to hear it now,  from his lips, in his voice, in _that_ tone…

                “Oh, that’s just goddamn _unfair_ ,” she complained. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the flush spreading across her face, the heat building between her legs… she’d survived a lot of things, in her time, but she just might not survive this.

                Ulysses smirked down at her.

                “Seemed to like it, Gentle Rain,” he murmured, burying his face in her neck.

                His hand traced down her body and came to rest at her hip, thumb pressing against her hipbone. Truth be told, his fingers were probably digging in a little too hard, but the way his lips worked against her neck, and whatever of her shoulders he could reach through her shirt collar, more than made up for it. He let out a low groan, barely audible, as his mouth seemed determined to thoroughly explore every inch of skin available to him. Hand still tangled in his hair, she pulled his head closer, urging him on; her other hand wandered, slipping between his duster and his ratty old shirt, feeling the powerful muscles of his back.

                The duster was getting in the way, she decided, so she tugged at it, trying to pull it off his shoulders. He paused for a moment, sat up, and shrugged it off himself, eyes fixed on hers as he did so. She grinned back, resting languidly on one elbow as she enjoyed the sight; the corner of his mouth quirked up briefly in response. He tossed the jacket to one side and settled himself back on top of her, encircling her with his arm once more. Her hands roamed his back and shoulders freely as he returned to his own caresses. Now that he was distracted, she slid a hand up inside his shirt in one quick move, felt him shudder above her as her fingers found hot skin; god, he was _burning_ … She took advantage of his surprise to nibble at his throat, feeling his pulse beat hard against her lips. Now, _she_ had the upper hand-

                But his own hand had drifted up to her chest and began to unbutton her shirt, as the other traced patterns on the small of her back. He took his time, pausing after every button to savour each new expanse of skin revealed to him, teeth grazing at her collarbone, hair tickling the sides of her breasts, mouth pressing soft kisses against the surgical scar over her heart, lips trailing down her belly. She gasped, both hands twisting into his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as she pressed him to her, competitive spirit forgotten. In her dreams, he had not been this… patient.

                By the time the last button came undone, Jane’s shirt was falling off her shoulders and she was close to begging him for more; might’ve already, if she weren’t so damn stubborn. She shed the top impatiently. Ulysses fumbled a bit with the catch of her bra; she reached around to help him, but he’d already worked it free, pulling it away to leave her chest bare to his sight. Didn’t seem like he had any complaints, from the way he looked at it. He slid his free hand slowly up her flank, stopping just below the breast. His eyes sought hers; an unspoken question. She took a deep breath and nodded, grinning at the hunger in his eyes as he renewed his caresses.

                “So,” she laughed. “All that time sittin’ here, I’m gonna go out on a limb an’ say this ain’t how you expected things to end between us.”

                “Would have done things differently, if I did,” he snorted, palming a breast with one calloused hand. The feel of it sent shivers down her spine. “Found a better mattress, for one.”

                “God damn, Ulysses,” Jane crowed. “Did you just make a _joke_?”

                Her snickering turned to a gasp as he rolled a hardened nipple under his thumb. The heat between her legs grew steadily more insistent with each touch, each sensation. Still toying with one nipple, he bent his head down to suck at the other, teasing it with his tongue before taking it gently between his teeth. Once or twice, he nibbled a bit too hard, but he backed off when he heard her hiss, gradually coming to work out what she liked.

                It wasn’t fair, she thought dimly, that she should be the only one so exposed; she tugged the hem of his shirt up, trying to take it off. Ulysses detached from her breasts to sit up again, pulling the ragged shirt over his head as she ogled him shamelessly. He didn’t seem to mind that much, a hint of a smirk on his face as she admired his physique. Christ, but he had muscles… scars, too; she had the feeling that it’d be quicker to count the things in the wasteland that _hadn’t_ tried to kill him at some point. She traced them with her fingertips as he resettled himself, followed the lines of hard muscle as he planted a kiss at the bottom of her ribcage. He returned his attentions to her nipples, kissing one while stroking her belly with his free hand. Her fingers trailed down his abdomen, tried to creep beneath his belt, but he snatched her hands away.

                “No hurry.” His voice was low; his breath tickled her skin. “Let me…”

                “Let you _what_?” she gasped, squirming beneath him. “If you ain’t noticed, I’m _lettin’_ you do plenty already.”

                “Said it yourself, never expected this. No need to rush, better to do it properly. Want you to _feel_ it.”

                “Oh, shut up,” Jane growled, dragging Ulysses’ face to hers to claim his lips again. It wasn’t much of a retort, but the part of her brain responsible for clever comments seemed to have wandered off somewhere in all the excitement. Not breaking the kiss, Ulysses’ hand fell to her belt, scrabbling with the buckle. She kicked her boots off eagerly, wriggling out of her jeans as he succeeded in getting her belt undone. His hands ran over her thighs – the outside, first, then the sensitive flesh on the inside – and she shifted beneath him, legs opening to admit more of his touch. At last, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her briefs, pulling them off her at an agonisingly slow pace. Finally, she was naked before him.

                He made a contented sound in the back of his throat as he gazed down at her, completely bared to him. His hands smoothed along her thighs again, one coming up to gently knead her ass as the other pushed her legs slightly further apart. He stroked her inner thighs with light, teasing touches, and she gritted her teeth to stop herself from keening in impatience. She felt like sobbing in relief when she finally felt his fingertips brush between her legs, her breathing hitching at the sensation. Jane couldn’t fail to note the self-satisfied glint in Ulysses’ eyes at the wetness he found there.

                He nuzzled at her neck as he played with her, exploring slowly – _infuriatingly_ slowly – searching for the spots to make her moan and quiver. One finger lazily circled her entrance, almost slipping inside; she wriggled her hips impatiently, and finally it paused, not quite entering her. His eyes sought hers again, the same question as before. She squeezed him tight in response.

                He slid a long finger inside her, gently rubbing her inner walls, coaxing soft gasps from her lips. He watched her reactions closely as he touched her, clearly enjoying the sounds she made – proof of what he could do to her, the pleasure, the naked _want_ he could make her feel. She was far too happy, right now, to be embarrassed by that; she would moan as loud as he wanted if it would make him feel the same warmth.

               A second finger languorously joined the first, and she actually _writhed_ , opening her thighs wider for his clever hand. He smirked above her, so she grabbed his head, fingers tangling into his locks, and dragged him down, kissing him hard and deep. He responded hungrily, pressing her down against the mattress with his body, sparse chest hair teasing at her nipples as he stroked her tongue with his, captured every gasp, every moan as his fingers moved inside her. She could feel him hard against her thigh, even with his pants still annoyingly on; but he seemed in no great hurry to do anything about it, choosing instead to take his time with her, let the two of them savour every caress.

                His thumb grazed lightly over her clit, and her hips bucked at the sudden jolt that ran through her. Seemingly pleased with this reaction, Ulysses began rubbing it more insistently, his fingers working faster inside her. Jane moaned and clutched at him, feeling the pooling heat, the urgent need. God, she must be close…

                He withdrew his fingers.

                “Wh- The hell, man?” She jerked her head up, only to see him fumbling with his own belt, kicking off his boots as he did so. “Goddamn tease,” she growled up at him, her nether regions _aching_ at his absence. He swiftly divested himself of his trousers and climbed back atop her; unlike his last disrobing, he didn’t give her time to admire the view. Still, from what she did see… well, he had nothing to be ashamed of, that was for certain.

                She supposed that if she tried to crack a joke about his ‘nuclear missile,’ he would probably kick her out of bed right then and there.

                He nudged her legs apart with his knee, settling his broad body between her thighs. Once more his arm snaked around her, supporting his weight and angling her hips into a better position. He shifted carefully, and she felt the tip of him press at her entrance as he met her eyes once more. Jane nodded back, giving him an encouraging squeeze with her knees as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

                She was wet enough, _hungry_ enough for him that size proved no issue. Ulysses groaned as he eased himself into her, filling her comfortably. Jane sighed at the feeling, pressing kisses at his jawline, sucking and nibbling at his throat, tasting the tang of salt sweat from their exertions. She enfolded him in her arms, fingers gripping deliriously at his shoulders in the haze of pleasure. He paused, when he was fully inside, gently stroking her flanks, working his way up her body: up over her breasts, her collarbone, her neck… He cupped her cheek, sucking hard on her lower lip as he kissed her. He was still, aggravatingly still, but she could feel the tension in every muscle of his body, knew that it was taking a great deal of willpower for Ulysses to keep it slow, to draw this out.

                Even so, she was goddamn impatient. Jane wrapped her legs around him, wanting to feel him deep inside her; she reached down and gave his nicely muscled ass a squeeze, grinding against his pelvis, urging him to move, dammit, _move_ -

                Finally, the arm around her tightened as he began to move inside her, starting with long, slow strokes which left her gasping, but building up to a more steady rhythm. She savoured the sensations, the taste of his skin, the low sounds he made when he thrust into her, the wild kisses he planted all over her, even the brief sting of pain when he set his teeth to her collarbone a little too enthusiastically…

                Jane grabbed Ulysses’ head, squeezing his body between her thighs as she bucked her hips to meet his thrusts, murmured in his ear about how much she wanted him – how good he felt inside her, how she had lain awake some nights dreaming of this, how she wanted him to crave her as desperately as she craved him – before nibbling the ear, tugging at it gently with her teeth. She could feel the pressure inside her building up to near-unbearable levels; _god_ , she was close…

                Maybe he realised that, because his hand crept down, between her legs, to where they were joined. Calloused fingers danced nimbly over her clit, sending her finally, _finally_ over the edge.

                He picked up the pace as she rode out her orgasm, and it wasn’t long before he came himself, letting out a strangled groan as he held her tight, fingers digging perhaps a bit too hard into her hips.

                Spent, he collapsed on top of her, his weight pressing her down, his breathing slowly returning to normal. She felt him soften inside her, but he made no move to withdraw just yet, one hand idly toying with her hair. As the fog of lust cleared from her mind, she began to find the position rather uncomfortable; he was quite heavy, and much as she loved the body contact, it was getting a bit difficult to breathe like this.

                “Ulysses,” Jane panted, pushing at his shoulder. “I love you an’ all, but if you don’t get off me, I may not survive the night.”

                He rolled off of her languidly, still holding her close, stroking her gently in post-coital contentment.

                “Safe in here, Temple’s defences still strong,” he murmured into her hair. “No need for either of us to take watch, can rest easy.”

                “That your idea of pillow talk?” she snorted. “And they say romance is dead.”

                “Hmph,” he huffed. “Would’ve thought I’d showed you well enough, just now, Cou- Gentle Rain.”

                His fingers traced soft circles between her shoulder blades, and she snuggled deeper into his embrace, burying her face into his broad chest.

                “Dunno about that,” she laughed sleepily. “Might need another demonstration tomorrow night.”

                “Insatiable woman.”

                “Take it as a compliment, my man.”

                He rested his chin on her head. His arms and body were warm, his touch surprisingly tender, and Jane soon found herself drifting off to sleep.

                She woke once, briefly, at some godforsaken hour of the night, to find Ulysses still holding her. He was asleep and, though it was hard to say for sure in the gloom of the Temple, his resting face looked _peaceful_ , for once, far more so than she’d ever seen it. He mumbled a few words in what she supposed was the language of the Twisted Hairs, and shifted his grip, pulling her closer to him as he slept; the gesture was unexpectedly endearing, and she would have giggled if she wasn’t so loath to wake him. Instead, she settled on using one strong arm as a pillow, and allowed her drowsiness to carry her off once more.

 

—

 

                When the morning came, he was still there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point, my planning notes for this chapter included the phrase "Commence the sexx," haha (Note from another chapter: "Dan Ulysses ur biceps")
> 
> Anyway, we're nearing the end, here; the next chapter will probably be the last. Still, I do want to write more with these two in the future. I've really enjoyed doing this, and I've really been overwhelmed by all the comments and kudos! Thank you guys all so much!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I actually finished the epilogue before this chapter (which wasn't originally planned, but I felt like writing some more fluff, haha), so I decided I may as well update them both at once. I hope you enjoy it!

_Chapter_ _7_

                Jane woke to the feeling of warm arms still holding her, another’s heat pressed against her naked body. Groggily, she opened her eyes. In the dim light of the Temple, she could make out a broad shoulder, the line of a jaw, tight locks of hair; could feel Ulysses’ hot breath against her face-

                Ah. Of course.

                A flush spread across her cheeks as the memories of last night came rushing back. She felt Ulysses stir against her, the hard muscles of his torso shifting against her bare chest.

                His piercing eyes snapped open and met hers, took in her reddened face, her dishevelled hair, her nudity to match his own. He made a contented noise in the back of his throat and tightened his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

                “Hm. Not a dream, then,” he murmured, planting a line of lazy kisses down her throat, the stubble on his cheeks rasping pleasantly against her skin.

                An unexpected wave of relief overcame her; the death of a buried fear that he would reject her, come morning; find himself regretting what they’d shared. It was no small comfort to find that this was not the case.

                “Seems pretty damn real to me.” Jane wrapped her arms around him in kind, kissing his jaw line before twisting her head to claim his lips. “Often have dreams like this?” She grinned against his mouth.

                “Have _no_ idea, Cou-” He paused at her glare. “Gentle Rain,” he amended, and she had to admit, it still made her feel tingly to hear the name from his lips. His rough hands stroked her shoulders, her back, her flanks. Part of her wanted to stay there forever, let him kiss and touch her until she was near begging him to enter her again. They were well-fortified in the Temple, she thought, had plenty of supplies; a day in bed surely wouldn’t be so bad. Even so, she was still rather… tender, from last night’s exertions.

                “Guess I better fix us some breakfast.” She untangled herself from his arms with a sigh, turning away from him to scrabble around the bedside for her clothes. “Can make some wasteland coffee, if you got a pot in here.”

                Ulysses didn’t respond; just reached out an arm, trailed his fingers down the long scar on her back, and she shivered.

                “Still curious about that one?” she asked, her search for clothes halted.

                “Clean lines, straight,” he frowned. “Seen its like before. Scalpel, not enemy blade or claw. Said you got it in the Big Empty?”

                Jane looked back over her shoulder, shot Ulysses a glance. They really were alike, she thought. Once they got a question in their heads, they’d never give up until they found an answer.

                He lounged on the mattress as he brushed her long hair aside, the better to examine the scar. He seemed utterly unembarrassed by his own nudity; though, she supposed, man with a body like his didn’t have much to be self-conscious about.

                “Yeah,” she replied at last. “Woulda seen similar tendin’ to Christine, no doubt. Dunno what they used, some kinda high-tech surgery machine like an Auto-Doc, maybe.”

                She sat where she was, unwilling to move; not with his fingers still ghosting over her skin, making her tremble as she leaned into his touch.

                “Another experiment… more of the Gods’ madness?”

                “Ha. What else, in the Empty? Got kidnapped investigatin’ some kinda downed satellite outside Nipton. Guess I hadn’t learned my lesson from the Madre.” She smiled bitterly. “Next thing I know, I’m wakin’ up with some crazy brain bots tellin’ me they’ve cut me open and ripped out my spine and brain and heart, just like that.”

                Ulysses’ frown deepened as he traced a finger slowly down her backbone, feeling the vertebrae.

                “Feels here. Wouldn’t have thought even you could survive that, Cou- Gentle Rain.”

                “Thought so too, but they put robots bits in me in the meantime. Took me damn ages to get the originals back. The brain was a real motherfucker, let me tell you.”

                Jane swept back her hair, showing him the thin scar running along her hairline. He felt along it, twining stray strands of hair between his fingers. His touch was comforting; she laid herself back down, facing him again, head resting on his bicep. She couldn’t leave his arms, not now, not when he was showing a tenderness that made her heart ache.

Speaking of hearts… Ulysses turned his attention to the surgical scar above her left breast. He pressed two fingers to it, nodded in satisfaction when he felt her pulse quicken beneath.

“What,” she smirked at him. “You need proof I ain’t heartless?”

                “Hm.” Ulysses let out a low, rumbling chuckle, even flashing a fleeting smile. “No. Had proof enough of that, last night. Heard it from your own lips.” He nuzzled at the scar, kissing it, worrying the skin with his teeth, his mouth tantalisingly close to the breast below, and its hardening nipple.

                “O-Oh?” Jane replied, flustered. Now that she remembered it, she had, well, technically professed her love for him last night. While sleepy and trying to get him off of her, mind, but still… Not to mention all the things she’d whispered into his ear as he thrust into her… “Didn’t here you complainin’ none,” she rallied herself. “Seemed to enjoy it, eh?”

                Ulysses laughed again – it was a nice sound, she thought- his head not rising from her chest, his hand resting on her hip, his dreadlocks tickling the bare skin of her torso. Jane tightened her arms around him, softly stroking the back of his neck. He knew how she felt… well, that in itself was kind of a relief. He hadn’t run yet, at least. Probably save her some awkward attempt at confession, too.

                His own feelings might not have been so clear, but he seemed to enjoy hers, and that alone was far more than she could honestly have expected, before yesterday. Far as she was concerned, anything from this morning on was a plus.

                “You know what?” She grinned down at him, feeling mischievous. “The whole thing was technically your fault, too.”

                He looked up from his ministrations, frowning.

                “…What?”

                “It was all about some mad plot by the Think Tank to get themselves out of the Empty. Seems the question you asked them broke some kinda feedback loop in their brains stopped them from acknowledgin’ the outside world, and they were wantin’ to get outside and mess with it. Only kept back ‘cause one of their own knew it was a bad idea, sabotaged their plans; he was the one messed with their thoughts in the first place.”

                “Asked that question thinking I was a dead man,” Ulysses protested. “Couldn’t predict the answer, can’t blame me for-”

                A finger to his lips silenced him.

                “Relax, my man, I knew that; I’m just messin’ with you.”

                “Hmph. Wicked woman.” He glowered at her, or at least gave the _appearance_ of glowering; his eyes burned holes into hers, but there was the hint of a smirk on his face as he nipped her fingertip. Jane snickered, fond of this almost playful side of him.

                “ _I’m_ wicked? What about you, leadin’ an innocent woman into temptation like this? What _would_ that book of Graham’s say?”

                “Did plenty of leading yourself, seem to recall,” he murmured. “Nearly tore my shirt off.”

                “You ever _seen_ your shirt, Ulysses?” she laughed. “That thing could tear in a stiff breeze. Ain’t you heard of a sewing needle, man?”

                A wicked thought came to mind as he caressed her arms and sides, settling himself back atop her (really, he seemed to like being on top; lucky for him that there was something comforting in the feel of his weight).

                “Hey Ulysses,” Jane began, brushing hair out of his face, fingers over his jaw line. “If you met the Think Tank, does that mean you spoke to Dala? Purpley monitor, calls people ‘teddy bears,’ really, _really_ into breathin’?”

                He froze above her.

                “…Had hoped to forget that,” he admitted with a grimace.

                “And that weird thing they do with thinkin’ fingers and toes are penises?”

                “…That also.”

               She could just imagine Ulysses – serious, melancholy Ulysses – reacting to _that_ particular strain of Think Tank lunacy. It was no good; she burst out in a fit of snorting laughter beneath him.

                “Hmph.” He wrapped an arm behind her hips, supporting himself. “Seem to be in a good mood, this morning.”

                “Now, whose fault could that be?” She laughed, shifting to get comfortable beneath him. That drew another chuckle from him, the sound making her ears hot.

                “Y’know,” Jane mused. “Big Empty wasn’t so bad, in my reckonin’. Well, I mean, it was an unexploded shithole filled with crazy ‘bots and angry brainless guys and creepy walkin’ skeletons, but it weren’t nearly as bad as the Madre. Funny, that, considerin’ all the parts I got ripped out of me there.”

                “Have very different memories of the Big Empty, you and I,” Ulysses snorted.

                “True enough, I s’pose,” she shrugged, as he cupped her cheek in his palm, fingers tangling in her hair, touching the bullet scars on her temple, dancing over the sensitive skin at the back of her neck. “Guess everything looks better when you don’t have a bomb collar strapped to your neck.”

                “No surprise there. No Elijah to hold the leash, in that crater; Gods of the Big Empty too wrapped in the twisting loops of their minds, cared only for test subjects, experiments, not slaves.”

                “‘Slaves?’” Jane echoed bitterly. “Thought of myself more as a hostage, back in the Madre, but I guess that ain’t too far off the mark. Ha, swore to myself once I’d never let Legion take me alive. Terrified of it, to tell the truth, bein’ so powerless… Ain’t ever gonna let what happened in the Madre happen again, that’s for damn sure.”

                She tightened her arms around him fiercely, taking comfort in his closeness, the feel of him. He held her back, almost protectively.

                “‘Sides,” she continued a few minutes, mood somewhat lightened in his embrace. “I was lucky, in the Empty. Some helpful soul’d left trail markers all over the place, pointin’ out shelter and warnin’ of danger. Followed them through the crater, helped keep me outta too much trouble. Reckoned I should thank the man who put ‘em there, if our paths ever crossed.”

                “Put there more from habit, than intention.” His breath, and his low voice, tickled her ear. “Never expected you, of all people, might find them.”

                “Told you before, I’m good at doin’ the unexpected,” Jane grinned. “Found some old hideout, too. Had a couple holotapes in it, man with a _very_ nice voice.”

                “Oh?” She could feel the smirk in his tone.

                “Thought I wouldn’t have minded bein’ nursed back to health by a man with a voice like that, myself. ‘Course,” she laughed, brushing her knee up against Ulysses’ leg. “Ended up bein’ the other way round. Can’t say I’m disappointed with the result, though.”

                He grabbed at her leg, stroking the back of her knee and making her squirm before sliding his hand up to her thigh, tracing the scars he found there. She might not have been as battle-worn as him – one advantage of picking off most of your enemies from long distances – but she still had plenty of nicks and scratches of her own, and he felt them out, kissing and caressing every line of an old injury, skipping over the most aching parts of her. It was a nice feeling, though, tender and leisurely.

                She curled up against him, arms draped around his neck and shoulders, hands doing some exploring of their own. Her calloused fingertips traces a long, jagged claw mark over his shoulder blade, a badly-healed knife wound beneath his ribs, a patch of knotted burn scar; he stilled to let her touch him. He seemed to enjoy the attentions she paid him, making low noises of contentment as she took her time over him, finally seeking out flesh on her to taste and squeeze and fondle as her fingers ghosted over his skin. She felt him hard against her thigh again, ready for a continuation of last night’s enjoyments.

                “Ha!” Jane snickered into his hair, brushing herself deliberately against his length, making him start. “I’m gettin’ the feeling you’re enjoyin’ this, Ulysses.”

                “Made no secret of that,” Ulysses groaned as he manoeuvred himself more fully atop her, pushing her down into the ancient mattress. He hooked an arm under one knee, pulling it gently outwards, insinuating his body between her thighs; cupped her chin to nudge her mouth open, kissing her hard and deep.

                He seemed to like her slow, teasing touched, each one spurring on his passions. Jane had the distinct feeling that he hadn’t seen much tenderness in his life – at least, not since Legion took the Twisted Hairs – and that was something she was happy to fix.

                He shuddered above her when her hands slid over his neck, feeling powerful muscle beneath her palms, and she felt a surge of triumph. Yes, he was _hungry_ for her, now, just as she wanted him to be. He pulled back from her face, and she planted kisses along his jaw, felt the scratch of stubble on her lips. His hand tried to creep down between her legs, but she deftly brushed it aside, placing it firmly on her breast instead.

                “Hope to make me beg, Gentle Rain?” he growled into her ear, kneading the soft flesh between his fingers.

                “Ha! As if you ever would,” she grinned back, taking his head in both hands, pressing her forehead to his. It was such a simple gesture, theoretically innocent, but to her surprise it felt every bit as intimate as any more salacious caress.

                Ulysses rested his forehead against hers for a moment, eyes closed, the tips of his locks tickling her cheeks. Jane knew that that – all of this, really – must take a great deal of trust on his part, a level of openness with her that would have seemed unthinkable when she first came to the Divide, so long ago. She, too, wouldn’t have expected it to turn out this way, but she treasured the peace and affection she found in his arms, hoped he found the same in hers. After all the bullshit that had gone on in both their lives, she reckoned, the two of them deserved to be happy.

                Distracted by her thoughts, she didn’t notice Ulysses’ hand snaking back between her legs until she felt two fingers rub up against her clit, and she let out a sound that was half-moan of pleasure, half-cry of surprise-

               

—

               

                It would be quite some time before the two of them surfaced for breakfast.


	8. Chapter 8

_Epilogue: At the Beginning of the Road_

                Rubble crunched beneath Jane’s boots as she walked the road up towards Hopeville once more. By now, the path was so familiar that she could probably have travelled there in her sleep. There, in his usual spot, was Ulysses – her lover, she supposed, although it still felt strange to call him that – gazing down at the Divide below. He turned his head to face her as she approached, gave her a nod of acknowledgement.

                “See you’ve returned, Courier.”

                No doubt, to an onlooker, it would not have looked at all like a man welcoming back his beloved, but that was just how Ulysses was. Fortunately, Jane didn’t mind much; after all, she reckoned, she was the one who fell in love with such a man in the first place. At least she’d succeeded in getting him to call her by name in bed, if nowhere else. Besides, most onlookers would not know Ulysses well enough to pick up on the trace of warmth in his voice, but she did.

                “Thought I’d leave you all alone here? Not a chance.”

                She took a seat close beside him, on the cliff top; set her had down next to her.

                “Hey, you changed your hair,” Jane remarked. Some of the knots and patterns were subtly different; most people would never have even noticed the change.

                “Saw that?” He looked surprised. “Take good eyes, good memory to see.”

                “Heh, well,” she grinned at him. “Must be all the lookin’ at you I do.”

                “Hmm.” He did not sound displeased by this; there was a smug glint in his eyes.

                “You said before, Twisted Hairs say a lot of things through the way you wear your hair, right? So what’s the change mean?”

                Ulysses cocked his head, looked her dead in the eye.

                “Think you know that one, Courier.”

                Ah. Well. _That_ managed to get her heart racing. Yeah, she remembered him mentioning something like that, how their relationships, too, were written in their hair…

                “O-Oh?” Jane tried to regain her composure, ignore the heat on her cheeks. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic, Ulysses.”

                Still, she was touched. Since they first met, their relationship had, for a long time, been rather… strange, nebulous, hard to define. It was nice to know that Ulysses, too, was coming to think of them as lovers, to put it into concrete terms. There was something comforting about it. Plus, she knew well that Ulysses never did anything lightly; making such an open declaration of their relationship (well, open to the Twisted Hairs, at least) showed a great deal of feeling on his part, from a man who so rarely bared his emotions.

                So despite her joking words, she snuggled into him happily, nestling her head on his shoulder. He seemed to take her meaning, the feeling behind the gesture, for he made no retort; just let her rest there, close to him, feeling his warmth beside her. Ulysses was not the most demonstrative man when it came to his own feelings, didn’t ask for much physical affection outside of their bed, but he never denied her any that she wanted, let her kiss and hold him all she wished, never pushed her away.

                He steadied his arm behind her to lean against, keep her stable; she took hold of it and wrapped it around her shoulders instead. He made no objection, tightening his arm around her, keeping her close. They sat like that for a while, staring out over the Divide, content to enjoy each other’s nearness and take comfort in their presence. She felt his steady breathing beside her, his strong arm around her, and finally knew peace.

                “Hey, Ulysses.” A long time passed before Jane finally broke the silence. “Been meanin’ to ask…”

                She chewed through the words, hesitation clear in her voice. Ulysses’ hand was at her side; she took it in hers, idly toying with his long fingers. She’d always liked his hands, and now marvelled at how, despite the strength she knew they held, they could touch her so gently.

                “Speak on it, Courier,” Ulysses urged, in the face of her silence. “Not much left hidden between us, anymore.”

                “Right about that,” Jane admitted. She twined her fingers with his, and he squeezed her hand in response – a simple gesture to most, perhaps, but from Ulysses, it was the small things that spoke volumes. She took a deep breath, and continued. “Why d’you still stay here? Ain’t no place for the livin’, not anymore.”

                “Told you, Courier.” There was a melancholy note in his deep voice. “Need to see the scars made here, by Ashton spears. Not my way, to move on and forget.”

                “Movin’ on don’t mean forgettin’,” Jane frowned, sneaking a glance at Ulysses’ face. His eyes were downcast; looking inward, perhaps. “You never thought of leavin’? You treat stayin’ here as some kinda penance you gotta do. Never thought that, ‘stead of doin’ penance for what’s gone, it might be better to make something new?”

                She felt his head lift. _That_ got his attention.

                “Have something in mind, Courier. A plan?”

                She bit her lip. This was the crux of it, the heart of the matter, and to be honest, she was terrified of his refusal.

                “I was thinkin,” she said slowly, tracing the lines of his palm with her thumb, feeling him shiver slightly at the light touch. “We could travel, find new lands, a new home. Somewhere like the Divide was to you, maybe.”

                “Believe such a place exists?” His voice was slow, careful. She squeezed his hand; whether to reassure him or herself, she wasn’t entirely certain.

                “Yeah. Or at least, I reckon if there ain’t yet, we can make one. Walk the earth, find somewhere good, somewhere right, maybe somewhere the war ain’t touched too deep. Maybe even have some kids some day, teach ‘em the ways of Twin Mothers and Twisted Hairs. Ain’t quite rebuildin’, but somethin’ in that area.”

                “Build a new tribe?” he said. His tone was still measured, but she could tell that she’d piqued his interest. She nodded.

                “Hell, could be the beginnings of a new nation, even. There’s somethin’ I know you’d like. If just one courier can build a nation, imagine what two could do.”

                “Hm.” He hummed thoughtfully.

“But,” Jane continued. “I ain’t gonna do this without you. Ain’t nobody I’d rather do this with – ‘specially not the ‘rebuildin’’ part,” she added with a saucy grin, and he let out a low chuckle. “You wanna stay here, I can live with that; ain’t gonna leave without you. Just want you to think on it, is all.”

                Ulysses was silent for a long time as he considered it. In the distance, the storm winds howled, the Divide sun burned, the fires flickered.

                Finally, he said:

                “All right.”

                And together, the two Couriers left the Divide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand that's a wrap! Thank you so much everyone for reading this! This is actually the first time I've written a fanfic, and I've just been so overwhelmed by all your lovely messages and support! I love you guys! <3
> 
> As I said, I hope to write more with these two in the future! Life might be getting kinda crazy for a bit soon, but hopefully I can still find the time to write! It's been great fun!
> 
> Aaah I'm getting really emotional ;_: Again, thank you all so much for reading!


End file.
